


The Proposal (or A Very Short Engagement)

by RemainNameless



Series: on hiatus i'm sorry [5]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, I absolutely hate posting WIPs but I am out of fucks to give, M/M, Natasha thinks everyone is very very stupid, Steve Rogers is a fierce man-puppy with a beautiful soul, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, rom com AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-18
Packaged: 2017-11-07 03:05:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemainNameless/pseuds/RemainNameless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Tony needs a spouse, Steve tries to do the right thing, Pepper thinks it's all a very bad idea, and absolutely nothing ends up the way it was planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prequel

**Author's Note:**

> Rating subject to change.  
> Based on The Proposal. One of my friends was singing that "to the window to the wall" song and brought up Betty White and I had a Proposal!AU-shaped braingasm. So this happened. Will try to keep of a decent length, but watch this bitch turn out to be like 60k. I'm sorry I'm not sorry.  
> Anyway, enjoy!

For Steve, it started with Pepper’s morning latte trip. Sort of. 

Steve worked as a bicycle courier in those days. He already knew Brooklyn like the back of his hand, and it was only a matter of weeks before he could get around most of Manhattan and the Bronx with ease. Did he get paid enough to negate the number of times each day he was nearly hit by bad drivers? Well, it paid the rent. 

That day, he was dropping a package off at an office building he’d made deliveries to a few times before. The desk receptionist told him to head up to the top floor and give it to someone’s secretary, easy enough. Steve did as he was told and gave the harried-looking secretary a polite smile. She looked more stressed than was healthy, and she seemed to brighten a little. 

As he was heading back to the elevator, he spotted a door off to the side. Roof Access. Most buildings had them like that, separate from the normal stairs for security reasons. It wouldn’t have meant anything, he wouldn’t have even really noticed, if it hadn’t been for the man who slipped through the door. Now, first reaction said it was a smoker, but it wasn’t for a second that Steve registered the look on the man’s face. He looked grim, grimmer than was healthy. He only managed to head down a single floor before telling the elevator to head back up. Steve’s gut told him to follow the man, and he did. He had to. 

The man was sitting at the edge of the roof, and Steve was suddenly very glad he’d followed. He wasn’t sure quite what to do, though; who was he supposed to call in a situation like that? How was he supposed to act? 

Slowly, cautiously, Steve approached. It felt like an eternity passed before he was near enough to the man to be able to be heard over the wind. 

“Need some help there?” he yelled. The man startled and turned. 

“What are you doing here? Who are you?”

“No one. Absolutely no one. But you looked like you needed someone to talk to maybe.”

“I’m fine.” Steve walked over, sat down next to the guy. His eyes were red and his mouth was in a hard line.

“Yeah, I can see that.” Steve looked down at his feet, grateful he’d never been afraid of heights. “Nice view. The cars look really small from up here.” 

“You should go back inside,” the man said, looking into the open air. There was too much resignation in his voice; it made Steve want to physically pull him away, but that wouldn’t solve the problem. You could take the man off the ledge, but that wouldn’t take the suicidal tendencies out of the man.

Steve shrugged. “It’s kind of nice up here. So. What’s up? What prompted this little sight-seeing expedition?”

“It’s not a fucking _sight-seeing expedition_ , you-“ 

“I know. I’m not stupid. Talk to me. Tell me about it.”

“Why the fuck would I do that? I don’t even know you!” He was angry, but that was good. Anger was easy to work with. You could manipulate an angry person into doing whatever you wanted. 

“Exactly. You don’t know me. I don’t know you. You’re not going to get a better person to talk to, are you? So talk.”

“Would you just leave me alone? This is my decision. You don’t have a part in it.”

“It’s your decision? You think it’s a good idea? You think it’ll make something better? _Convince me_. I’ll let you go for it if you’ll only just convince me that it’s the best option.” 

 

Twenty-seven stories below, Pepper Potts is exiting a Starbucks with a venti latte in her hand. There’s a small crowd gathering on the sidewalk, and they’re pointing and looking up. She stops, curious. Way up above, she can see a dark shape, a person. A split second later, another joins. Pepper pulls out her phone, eyes stuck on the figures overhead. 

“Nine-one-one, please state your emergency.”

“There’s a possible jumper. Gotta be from at least twenty stories up.”

“Where is this?”

As Pepper recites the street, a few more people join the group. At this rate, there’s going to be a parade’s worth of people by the time the police show up. 

“Alright, people, the police are on there way, if everyone could just move on with their lives, that would be great!” A couple people give her dirty looks, but the group thins a little. Someone’s got to deal with crowd control; she read somewhere that the size of a crowd increases the chances of a jumper going through with it. 

Tony answers almost immediately. “Hey, Pep. Making a donut run? Good. You know what I like-“

“I’m going to be in a little late this morning, Tony. There’s something of a situation.”

“Well, hurry it up. I’m not done discussing last night. I’m serious.” 

Pepper sighed. “We’ll see. Don’t expect me soon.” 

It was silly, really. Ridiculous, what he had sprung on her last night. And he’d been so _flippant_ about it. But then, it was Tony. Still, she’d never thought she’d hear him say _Can you pass me that wrench? Oh, and by the way, I drew up papers to make you CEO today. You can sign them tomorrow._ Why on earth would he do that? Worse, it wasn’t a joke. Something was up with Tony, and she had to figure it out soon. 

With a worried sigh, she looked back up at the two figures on the roof. 

 

“So, what, you want me to list the reasons? Chronologically or alphabetically?” The man gave a bitter laugh. “Where do I even start? What, that the only time my father wasn’t a stupid drunk was when he was a violent one? That I had to work my way through college because my college fund seemed to have been mislabeled as booze money? That I fought my way into an office position, that I pulled late nights and early mornings and coffee runs for assholes because that was what it took?” He sighed, then looked over the ledge for a moment. 

“I worked so hard, I nearly missed out on the love of my life. And I never thought I deserved her. I never knew why Laura married me. Never made sense to me. Guess I always thought I was a public school kid. I was surrounded by people who’d never had to really work in their lives, and she picked me. So we get married and I work and work and work so that we can get a house, so we can have kids and they can be happy. And everything’s great. Only I worked too hard. I never saw my kids or my wife, and then I had to keep working, because if I could _just get that one promotion_ , we’d be set. We’d be fine forever. Only I was up against a man I _swear_ is a sociopath. Oh, he didn’t just ruin me financially. No, he set it up to look like I’d been working late to sleep with an intern, some poor kid who was still in high school. My wife left me, took our kids with her because _they weren’t safe with me_. I lost my job, my house. And then Laura moves in with this guy, says he’s a good man, a good father, like I never was. And I have absolutely nothing.”

“There’s always-“

“No. Don’t give me that shit. I have two options: I can kill him, or I can kill myself. One of those guarantees that I don’t go to jail and my kids at least get life insurance.” Steve bit his lip. There had to be more options than that. There was no way he’d be able to get this man to change his mind unless he came up with a third option.

 

Pepper checked the caller ID on her phone before answering. “What’s he done now?”

Rhodey let out a slightly distorted sigh of frustration. “Please kill him when you get here. This is ridiculous. I just stopped by to check in-“

“ _What is he doing_?” This was not going to be a good day, that much was clear. There hadn’t been a lot of those recently. Tony had been spiraling for months now; it hadn’t been pretty.

“He’s setting up a party for tonight and has invited every celebrity he has a number for. Which is too many. But it’s shaping up into something big. I have no idea what it is he’s setting up out back, but I think it might be _circus themed_? I swear I heard him talking about getting a leopard here. _Help._ ” 

Were Pepper Potts a lesser person, she would have been swearing. However, she’d become skilled at handling Tony over the years, or at least used to him. 

“Alright, talk to him first. Figure out what he’s planning at least. If you can, try to make sure there aren’t any large animals scheduled to make an appearance. Then send me the details. I’ll turn it into some sort of charity event or something. If we don’t put some spin on it, the press will string him up after last week. At least the Cowboys’ cheerleaders are going to have as hard a time refreshing their image as we are. I’ll be there as soon as I can. This is a bit of a mess down here.”

“I hope it clears up soon. I don’t think the mansion will survive this. Hell, I don’t think Tony will. I’ll try to hold down the fort.” 

“Good. And if it goes poorly, tell him I’ll schedule a lunch with his _very_ favorite congressman. Every week for the rest of the year.”

Rhodey bites off a laugh. “Will do. Hope to see you soon.” 

After they both hang up, Pepper tells a group of kids to go home and quit screwing around. The bigger the crowd gets, the faster it’ll grow. And whatever’s going on up there, she’ll do her best to get a happy ending.

 

“Do you have any money?” Steve asked timidly. 

“Barely.”

“Have you tried talking to a lawyer?” 

The man rolled his eyes. “A _lawyer_? What can a lawyer possibly do for me?”

“They could sue this guy for slander or libel or something? I’m not sure what it is, but I know there’s always someone looking for a pro bono case out there. Or you could move. Start from scratch. Or see if another company will hire you for the same position.”

“Those all sound like horrible ideas.”

“At least everyone’s still alive. I mean, sure, let’s be honest about it: you really got the short end of the stick. It’s unfortunate. But it happens. Horrible things happen every day and it’s how we react to those things that makes us who we are. Sure, you can give up and be done if you step off this roof, but there’s no way to stick it to this guy better than showing him up. To prove that you won’t be pushed down by anyone. What’s the saying? Happiness is the best revenge? Yeah, something like that. I suppose it just comes down to what message you want your kids to learn: that it’s okay to just run away from your problems, or that you should always keep fighting, even when everything is stacked against you? Wouldn’t you rather they had a father they could be proud of?”

He seemed offended, but it might not have been a bad thing. “Who the _fuck_ do you think you are, to tell me about my kids? You have _no right_ -“

“No, the same way you have no right to take away one of their parents. My parents both died when I was a kid, and I can tell you, it isn’t something you _get over_. So understand that it won’t just affect you.” This was met with a cold silence, but Steve thought it might be a victory. 

The thing about New York is that you could always hear sirens in the distance, so it took Steve a minute to realize that they were getting closer and closer. And then stopped. He looked down, his stomach turning slightly. 

“That’s a lot of people,” the man said, looking down as well. “I didn’t think someone would call the cops.” 

“Look, don’t ruin all of these people’s days. Don’t make a tragedy where there doesn’t need to be one.” 

“I can’t. I just-I’m already up here. They’re expecting me to jump. I don’t-I don’t want to be a coward.” 

Steve shook his head. “No, they’re not down there because they want to make you a hero for hitting the sidewalk. They just want a show. They want entertainment, and they’ll take it at your expense. Don’t pander to them. They’re not a part of this. This is about you and your decision.” Steve looked down again. “But I’d say if you want to avoid some awkwardness, you should do whatever you’re going to do before they bring out a guy with a megaphone.” 

The man shrugged, brought himself slowly to his feet. After a second, Steve did the same and stared down at the people in the street. They both breathed deeply as the wind tore at their clothing. Steve thought he knew what the man was going to do, but he wasn’t sure. He could certainly be wrong. Frankly, he didn’t know how he would live with himself if he was wrong. After a moment, the man gave a long, long sigh that was nearly stolen by the wind, then turned to Steve and held out a hand. Steve shook it. The man nodded and turned, walked with sure steps back to the door. A grin found itself on his face, gums drying in the air, but Steve couldn’t stop smiling.

When the two figures left the ledge, Pepper could have hugged someone, were she the hugging type. Instead, she sent a _Nearly done here_ text to Rhodey. The police were about halfway through blocking off the street and seemed sort of put out about not being able to finish. Pepper almost wanted to just walk down the street to where Happy was parked, but her curiosity got the best of her. Wasn’t every day you saw someone not commit suicide. It was at least something of a good start to what was soon to be a stressful day. She supposed that she mostly just wanted to see who came out of the building. If she was right about the situation, one man talked another out of jumping. Part of her wondered what kind of man could do that. 

It was a few minutes before she got what she was looking for. One man came out, in a dark suit, looking like he didn’t want to be seen by anyone. He had to be the jumper, she could tell it about him; she was good enough at reading people to read him like an open book. 

The second, well, she almost missed him. At first she thought it was a businessman who came out without a briefcase, smiling a little. But if her eyes were right, the man she was looking for wasn’t actually wearing the shape of a suit. So a minute later, when a man with a brown leather jacket and a bicycle wheeled out of the doors with the look of someone in a hurry, she was nearly certain he was her man. No one else seemed to pay him much attention, but then, the crowd had mostly thinned out by then. Her heels clicked against the sidewalk as she followed the man. Luckily, he couldn’t get on his bicycle because of the roadblocks the police were still taking down.  

She nearly ran when she saw him clear them and throw a leg over his bike, yelled, “ _Wait! You! Stop!_ ” The man stopped and turned around. Pepper stifled an exaggerated look; the man was surprisingly good-looking. 

“Sorry. Can I help you?”

“It was you, wasn’t it? You were up there with the jumper. Weren’t you?”

He looked startled, almost embarrassed. “I…well, I suppose so. Do you know him?”

“No, I just-“ She took a breath, eyeing him. “Let me buy you lunch. Or breakfast. Or coffee.”

“Why?”

“I just want to talk to you.” It was more than that, though; there was a plan brewing in the back of Pepper’s mind, and she needed to suss the guy out before it could go anywhere. 

“Are you…Are you some sort of reporter or something?”

“No, I’m-“ Pepper pulled a business card out of her purse “-a personal assistant to the current CEO of Stark Industries. Let me buy you a bagel and coffee or something.” 

He shook his head. “I really have to go. I’m late to pick up my next delivery. My boss isn’t very forgiving.” 

“I will personally reimburse him for your time. Please.” 

“Fine.”

Pepper smiled and waved Happy over from where he was parked just down the street. “I know a place with fantastic breakfast. My treat. Well, my boss’s treat. Come on.” 

Twenty minutes later, Steve (as Pepper had been told to call him) had a cup of coffee in front of him. She’d got him talking about his current situation in the car, and by the time the waitress had filled his cup, she’d made her decision. 

“So, why exactly are you buying me breakfast? I mean, I’m nothing special.”

Pepper shook her head with a little smile. “Here’s the situation, Steve: my boss is a very enigmatic individual. That’s how we explain him to the press, eccentricity, but if we’re being honest, he’s not been having a good year. Well, several years, but it’s been getting worse. He’s doing the first mature thing of his life and turning over Stark Enterprises to me. Of course, if I’m busy running the company, I can’t exactly keep up with my babysitting duties. That’s where you come in.”

“You want me to _what_ , exactly? I’m a little confused.”

“Tony Stark needs a new personal assistant. There aren’t many people I trust with him. But a man was not only able but _willing_ to talk a man he’d never met out of killing himself? That says a lot to me. And better than that, you didn’t come out of that building bragging and grinning like you were some sort of hotshot. I think you’re a good man who will dedicate himself to a task, and I think being a courier is working under your pay grade. I would like to offer you a job more suited to you.”

“I… _What_?”

“Obviously, I’d have to test you out with him first. Tony can sometimes bring out the worst in people, but I have a good feeling about you. Ideally, I’d like you to fly with me to Malibu in-“ she checked her watch “-an hour. We’ve got something of a crisis situation, and I’d like to see how you handle it. If you’re interested.” She laced her fingers together and settled her chin on them, fixing him with a look. There was a challenge in it, and she thought he might rise to it. If she was right about him. 

“Let me call my boss and tell him I won’t be coming in for a couple days.” 


	2. Chapter 1: It's All About Survival

On the plane ride, Steve kept to himself mostly. Pepper seemed to be very busy with what she called “damage control — you’ll figure out how accurate that term is” and didn’t really talk to Steve much. Unless she was throwing at him various tips for succeeding at the job she clearly wanted to give to him. 

“Rule one: no animals. Doesn’t matter if it’s a petting zoo, someone’s talking parrot, or a puppy he sees on the side of the road, just say no. That man needs a keeper himself; there’s no way he can keep an animal alive.” This one made Steve a little nervous. Why would there be animals? Of course, when she got on the phone with a man she called “Rhodey”, and nearly fainted in relief before saying, “Thank God — I did _not_ want to have to deal with a leopard this evening,” Steve realized that she was talking about a serious threat, not some sort of joke. That did not bode especially well.

As Steve was pouring himself a soda, he jerked up at the sound of snapping. “Rule two: don’t let him party with anyone above the D-List. They have _agencies_ of publicists. He has you. They _will_ throw him under a bus in the tabloids.” Steve nodded, finished pouring his soda, and very politely asked one of the two flight attendants for a pen and notepad. If there was something to be said about getting to fly on a private jet, other than the obvious _wow_ factor, it was that the flight attendants looked grateful for something to do when he asked them for something. 

It only took a moment to write down Pepper’s words as best he could remember them. Anything that made him feel a little more prepared was worth whatever effort it took. 

After a few minutes of nodding and making noises of agreement into her cell phone, Pepper hung up and looked at him from the other side of the plane. “Alright, I have to call a friend at the LA Times in a moment, but just to keep you up to speed, as soon as we get off the plane, you’re going to go with Happy to be fitted for a suit. He has the company card, he knows what he’s doing, so just follow his lead. He’ll help you out. And see about getting you a phone. That brick I saw earlier will not cut it.” Steve nodded at Happy, who was seated towards the back of the seating area and reading a book. “After, he’ll take you to the Malibu residence where you’ll become my shadow. The man I’ll be yelling at will be Tony. He’s decided to throw a very large and ill-advised party without letting me know. When it starts, you and I will basically try to keep him from injuring himself or anyone else.” She looked down at her phone, tapping away as Steve nodded and tried to file everything away. There was a lot going on.

“Sounds doable.”

She looked up at him, mouth stretched into a sad smile. “Confidence is key, Steve. You’re going to need it. And infinite patience. There’s not a lot that can prepare you for this job. It’s part guerrilla warfare, part motherhood, part chainsaw juggling. But I believe in you. I think you’ve got what it takes.”

“Thanks.” She nodded, scrolling through her phone. Her attention seemed to be somewhere else for a moment. 

“Oh, and Steve?” Her head snapped up to look him dead in the eyes. “I don’t care how good of an idea it might seem like at the time, whatever you do, don’t sleep with him.” 

Steve blinked, coughed a little, but nodded all the same. That wouldn’t be a problem.

 

Until that day, Steve had never left the East Coast. Apart from a couple trips to the shore in his childhood, he hadn’t really left New York even. So he wasn’t prepared for California. 

There was so much sun, it was overwhelming. When they got in the car, Happy handed him a pair of sunglasses, and Steve was more grateful than he could express. It wasn’t just that it was bright; everything seemed somehow over-saturated. When they made it onto the streets, it was crazy. Everything seemed to be in bright neon colors. It screamed at him from beyond the car windows. It was loud in a way that was very different from the New York sort of loud — where the lights and colors of New York were a defensive move, a warning, California beckoned and tried to suck him in, trap him in an over-processed promise of the sweetness of success. Something about it was alluring in a way that made his teeth hurt. 

 

By the time Steve pulled up to what Happy announced as “the Malibu Residence”, he was little more than a ball of nerves. 

Apparently, he was the only one aware of that little fact because as he got out of the car, Happy called out, “That stoicism will be a great help, Steve! Good luck!” Steve was not feeling particularly stoic. He was feeling like it was all a very, very bad idea and that he should be back in his apartment in Brooklyn instead of staring up at the most disgustingly large home he’d ever seen. But he wasn’t the type to actually turn and run, so he walked himself right up to the door. He was about to knock when there was a soft beep and the door swung open.

“Please proceed to the rear terrace. Mr. Stark is expecting you,” came a voice. The accent was British, and maybe that was part of the reason Steve couldn’t pinpoint exactly which direction it came from. At any rate, he seemed to know what he was talking about, so Steve slipped inside and tried to head back to where he could best guess a “rear terrace” would be. What he saw of the house, however, was ridiculous. Shiny metal and glass, with an aggressive sort of elegance, a careless minimalism. Wealth, taste, but little apparent interest in the details. When he passed through the living room, Steve didn’t see a single throw pillow. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but definitely something else. 

He was so caught up in looking around that he just about ran into someone. The man swerved, stopped, looked at him with narrowed eyes. 

“Who are you?” The man looked him up and down, and Steve was very suddenly aware of how strange it felt to be wearing a suit that was more expensive than most of his furniture. “Lawyer or stripper?”

“Uh, neither,” Steve said with some confusion. Did he look like a stripper? “I’m looking for Ms. Pepper Potts?”

The man relaxed and offered him a smile. “You must be her new recruit. Rhodey,” he said, extending a hand. Steve shook it with a smile. Good. Someone whose name, at least, he knew. 

“I’ve got to make my escape while I can, but Pepper and her overgrown toddler are back that way. Good luck.” He seemed a little less optimistic about the situation than Happy, but he seemed nice enough. Steve was about to ask him for any tips when Rhodey patted him on the shoulder with a quirk of his eyebrows and slipped away. 

At least Steve now knew for sure where he was going. That was something. And Pepper was there. It was going to be okay. He was going to do his best and that would be that. 

Steve found the terrace easily from the next room, seeing as the walls were entirely windows. There was a sliding door in the middle, automatic, and Steve walked outside with a deep breath. It only took a second to spot Pepper. She was standing with two men, one of which was holding something she was in the process of signing, it looked like. 

The other’s eyes snapped to him, narrowed, then widened before he turned to Pepper and began saying loudly and rapidly, “I swear to God, Pepper, I didn’t talk to Angelo at all. Can’t blame me for this one. He must have sent someone over. I was _not_ involved whatsoever. That said, can I keep him?” Pepper’s head snapped up, then followed his line of sight until her eyes rested on Steve. He gave a little wave, and she rolled her eyes.

“For God’s sake, Tony, he’s not a prostitute. That’s Steve. He might be your new Pepper. Say hi, and keep your hands to yourself.” She waved Steve over. “Come on and greet the beast. He won’t bite if you’re quick.” 

“What’ve you been telling him about me anyway?” the man, apparently Mr. Stark, said to her, grinning. 

“Only the bad things,” she shot back, then turned to the other man. “Thank you very much for your time.”

“Someone get me a bottle of champagne. I need to make a toast to the new CEO of Stark Enterprises.” He winked at Pepper as a bottle of champagne was held out to him. Stark looked down at it, frowned, and jerked his head at Pepper. “Give it to her; I don’t like being handed things.”

Pepper gave a sarcastic smile. “Not my job anymore, Tony.” 

“That’s my cue, I guess,” Steve said, taking the perspiring bottle of champagne. He wasn’t exactly sure what to do with it, so he sort of held it out in Stark’s general direction. He’d never actually opened a bottle of champagne before, so he really hoped that wasn’t something he’d have to figure out on the spot at that moment and, in all probability, fail so spectacularly that Pepper would fly him home on the spot. Fortunately, Stark took the bottle from him and popped it open with the air of someone who’d spent time opening champagne bottles for amusement and had always had plenty on hand. 

“Now there’s gotta be— There we go.” He found a stack of glasses on the table behind him and started pouring. Steve looked at Pepper for some sign of…of _something_ , and was rewarded with a glance and very small smile before her face sank into an unamused look. It seemed that was her default facial expression for Stark. The man in question abruptly turned around with three glasses of champagne and a grin. Steve took the glass offered to him with far less frustration than Pepper. 

“A toast! To the best personal assistant I’ve ever had-“ a quick look at Steve “-no pressure — and the only woman who could stand my incredible talents in the bedroom for longer than a couple of weeks and can clean up my messes faster than I can make them. Almost.” He stared off into the distance for a second, then shrugged and looked at them. “I’ll give a better speech tonight. You _are_ staying tonight, of course. This is going to be the party of the century, you know. Maybe even the millennium. I don’t wanna brag, but despite your meddling, it’s going to be quite the shindig. I promise to be sober for exactly none of it-“

“I think that goes without saying,” Pepper interjects, giving him a look. 

“I’ll concede that point, fine, but only if you concede that I’m cute when I’m drunk. Because I am, and you know it.” He waggled his eyebrows, getting exactly no reaction from her, then turned on Steve with a smirk. “It’s true. And I bet you’re a cute drunk, too. Steven, I think we have a fantastic evening ahead of us, as I am both a cute drunk and a very talented one. You look like you might have some talents of your own.” In several very rare instances, Steve had been hit on before. Once, by a man. Never had he felt both flattened and a little bit offended in response. Sure, Stark was something of a steamroller in a lot of ways — the way he talked, for one, made Steve feel like he was being crushed into the pavement — but it was actually spectacularly rude, if he thought about it. Here, Steve was in the running to be his new personal assistant, hand-picked by someone it looked like Stark trusted almost entirely, and he was being reduced to some empty shell to flirt at.

“I do, actually, have a few talents, and one of them is committing myself to a task without reservation. Looks like that task is to serve your better interests, so just so we’re on the same page, that’s exactly what I’ll be doing. Last I checked, your-“ Steve really hoped he didn’t blush here “-sex drive and boredom are not my concern.” The grin twisted its way across Stark’s face, and for all that Steve could read facial expressions, he could see Stark find a challenge in his words and decide to rise to it. What, exactly, that was going to mean for Steve was unclear. 

“No,” Pepper said, shaking her head firmly. “Tony, _no_. Back down.”

“Oh, I’m down, alright. Not to worry. I’m very, very down for this.” His eyes narrowed a little, like he was throwing his own challenge into the ring. “You’re hired.” And with that, he winked roguishly and headed inside. 

“Tony! What are you-You can’t just-“ Pepper yelled at his back, then sighed and eyed Steve. “Looks like you’re in this for the long haul, Brooklyn.”

“Should I not have…? I just thought it was a good idea to be clear from the start. About _things_.”

“No, that was good. I did the same thing, more or less. Actually, I had to slap him to get him to hire me, but whatever works. He’ll probably flirt for a while, but he’ll give up. Sort of. He’ll stop being serious about it when he starts to actually like you. But I think you can take it.” 

“What if he never likes me?”

Pepper snorted softly. “Well, then: you’d be pretty fucked, wouldn’t you?” 

He paled. 

After a second, she gave a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sort of wink and said, “Buck up, Rogers. You’ll do just fine.”

 

Four hours later, Steve was wearing an entirely different suit, this one more formal, and was being introduced to someone he’d seen on TV. Again. Apparently, this “event” (as Pepper had started calling it once the charity banner went up) was one of the only exceptions to the “no celebrities” rule, and Pepper was taking him “mingling” with her. It was mildly difficult because of the fact that it was outside and the lighting was intentionally less-than-bright as well as colored, and also because the whole thing was masquerade-themed. Or creepy carnival-themed. Steve wasn’t actually sure, but nearly everyone was wearing a mask, including himself (thanks to Pepper, it was pretty simple and not as ridiculous as some of the ones he’d seen) so identifying people was sort of difficult. But he could tell the woman in front of him was on this show that his roommate Bucky watched by her jaw line and voice. 

Every time Pepper introduced him as “Tony Stark’s new PA”, something in him shifted a little. He was becoming someone else, he _was_ someone else to these people, and he still hadn’t figured out if that was a good or bad thing. 

The speakers started playing a loud rock song, and Pepper leaned in to him to whisper in his ear, “Shoot to Thrill. AC/DC. He always enters to this song. If you’re very lucky, you might learn to love it.” Steve nodded, turning his attention towards the sliding doors. The DJ’s setup was close by it, so it would make sense for him to enter there, say a few words, then make his way around the crowd. 

Only Stark didn’t enter there; he entered off to the other side with a _pyrotechnics display_. Fire shot up fifteen feet into the sky and two women in bodysuits and face paint tumbled on either side, clearing the crowd effectively. Stark grinned, his arms outstretched, clearly in his element.

When he started speaking, his voice boomed through the speakers. Steve wasn’t listening, but he sure was watching. The way Stark used his hands when he spoke. The way he moved to a more centered spot in regards to the crowd with sure, precise steps. The way his eyes traveled around the faces before him, how he turned and made sure everyone could see him without being obvious about it. The precise curve and stretch of his smile and the flashes of teeth it revealed. Stark was practiced, that much was certain; he was a host through-and-through, an entertainer, and he knew exactly how to act the part. Because it was acting. There was too much confidence and precision for it to have not been rehearsed. He was very good at it, sure, but it was choreographed, strategized. 

Steve glanced at Pepper. She wore a reluctant smile. Probably because it was starting well. She’d done a good job, fixing everything, and Stark was making it look like nothing was ever broken. They were a good team that way, he thought. But Steve didn’t really want to be the new Pepper — their exact dynamic could never be remade, and Steve wasn’t Pepper anyway, but he was who he was, and hopefully that was someone who’d be able to handle Stark well. 

“Alright, now we do what I call 'Stark-stalking',” Pepper said to him quietly after Stark had wrapped up his little speech. “We follow him around, far enough away that whoever he’s talking to doesn’t feel threatened, but close enough that we can be on-hand if we have to do something. There’s an art to it.” Steve nodded and followed.

They hung a few steps behind him as he chatted people up. Every so often, Stark would plan a lunch or promise to go to someone’s party, and Steve would enter it into his phone, as Pepper had showed him. It was almost fun to watch, though. There was something of a variety of guests, and Stark knew how to talk to all of them. It was a performance, still, the way palm reading was a performance, just the right mix of attention to detail and showmanship. 

It wasn’t until the fifth tim Pepper tapped his arm that he realized what the tapping meant. 

Stark was on his fifth drink since finishing his speech. Now that Steve knew to watch for it, he could see how quickly he was downing them, how he managed to pluck them off the waitstaff’s trays like he was pickpocketing them, quick and almost unnoticeable. 

“When do we cut him off?” Steve whispered to Pepper as Stark took his seventh. 

“Always hard to pinpoint. I like to try before long he starts approaching his limit because he’s a stubborn ass and never stops when I tell him to. He still usually manages to get a few past me. So it’s up to you. I’d like to see how you handle it.”

And _that_ was absolutely zero pressure or anything.

But Steve studied. He watched carefully. It wasn’t really enough. 

“What do I do with him when I think he’s had too much? Do I make him leave the party? Or do I just keep him from drinking any more?” 

Pepper smile in a way that told him absolutely nothing. “That’s up to you. Trust your instincts.”

“I can hear you two plotting behind me. Stop. Take your little party-pooping storm clouds somewhere else. My God, you’re like the Buzzkill Brigade.” Stark gave them a warning look. It was almost distracting enough to mask the fact that a new drink had suddenly appeared in his hand. 

“Maybe take it easy. It isn’t even eleven yet.” 

Stark grinned and tossed back the drink, a shot. “It’s always five AM somewhere or however that saying goes.” He winked and waved over a waiter. “Here, have a drink, Steve. Maybe it’ll help you with that stick in your ass. Who knows.” Steve waved away the waiter and shared a brief look with Pepper. She gave a little _he’s your problem now_ shrug. Stark was already ten yards away, chatting up a group of women who were probably models. 

“He’s a stupid drink, isn’t he?” Steve asked carefully. He couldn’t decide what to do until he knew a little more about the situation.

“He’s an obnoxious drunk, a belligerent drunk, and a horny drunk, but there have been very, very few times in his life that Tony Stark has been stupid. Never forget that. He went to MIT at fifteen. His stupid is Mensa-worthy.” 

“Well, he’s just a peach, isn’t he?” Steve wrinkled his nose. 

Pepper laughed softly. “He certainly is. Come on. This looks like a sex scandal waiting to happen.”

 

Three hours later, they were in what Pepper called “crisis mode”. This meant that Stark was at the DJ’s stand trying to freestyle about the people at the party he’d either already slept with or was planning on sleeping with, a half-empty bottle of champagne in his hand. Steve wasn’t even sure how it had happened: one minute, he’d been apologizing to a woman Stark had bumped into and very nearly drenched in alcohol, the next, he was out of Steve’s sight. Pepper was trying to convince the DJ to cut the line to the mic, but it looked like it wasn’t exactly going well. Most of the guests look supremely uncomfortable, and Steve didn’t blame them; he was sure his ears were bright red because Stark had the sort of crudeness that put sailors to shame. 

Steve approached from the side, smoothly, like he was confronting a wild animal. “Mr. Stark, put the mic down. Alright? I think we’ve had enough fun with this.” It took Stark a moment for his eyes to focus on him and recognize who he was.

“Steve! Ladies and gentlemen, we are in for a treat, aren’t we? Or, well, _I_ am. Speaking of people I’d like to fuck sideways-“

“ _Mr. Stark_.”

“-Look at him. He’s like an underwear model crossed with an eagle scout. Sex appeal and you can still get that little rush of corrupting someone. You’re the poster child for wholesome American family values, only hotter. Mmm.” Stark had a hand on his lapel by then and was giving him bedroom eyes, and Steve _knew_ he would regret it, _knew it_ , but he had one last card to play. 

“If you hand Pepper the microphone,” he said very slowly and clearly, “then you can have me.” In a split second, Stark’s arm shot out in the general direction of Pepper, who snatched it from him with an appreciative nod at Steve. 

“Alright, thank you very much, everyone, but I think it’s getting late, don’t you? If you’re not okay to drive, our drivers would be more than happy to assist. Don’t forget your gift baskets on your way out!” 

Steve was only half-listening because apparently, Stark was _very_ enthusiastic about getting his end of the bargain. He was whispering things in Steve’s ear that would make his mother roll over in her grave. It was terrifying, but Steve was sober and stronger, so he didn’t let it trouble him. Until he discovered that Stark had wandering hands, that is.

“Let’s take this-“ he took Stark’s wrists firmly, holding them in place “-somewhere a little more private.”

Stark _pouted_. “I don’t care. I wanna make them jealous. They have every reason to be. I mean, you’re mine now, aren’t you? I really need to that Pepper for that one, don’t I? She has the best taste-“ Steve slapped a hand over his mouth, more insulted than anything else. Pepper was shooing people along several paces away, and he caught her eye, mouthing _I’m going to put him to bed_. She nodded and turned back to crowd control. 

“Where’s your bedroom?” Steve removed his hand gingerly.

“You’re so traditional, it hurts me. Right in the deviancy. Come on, let me show you.”

It was a perilous journey. Mostly because at first, Stark tried to kiss him on the way there, which Steve only narrowly avoided. Then he turned his attention to clothing, which was a little more difficult to defend himself against because the attack came from all sides. By the time they reached the room, Steve wasn’t quite sure where his jacket was, and his shirt was both untucked and halfway unbuttoned. Stark  had managed to almost entirely disrobe himself, but it was fine because Steve was making _eye contact_.

“Come on, gorgeous. Let me show you why I get more action than Paris Hilton. Fuck, more than Paris, _France_. God knows the French are horny bastards.” 

Steve didn’t laugh, but it was a very near thing. Instead, he focused on the peril, the fact that Stark nearly had his shirt off, the fact that he was drunk beyond reason. Soldier face: _on_. 

“Get on the bed,” Steve said in a low voice, a little surprised that Tony grinned and did exactly as he was told. “Wait here. I’ll be right back. Let me get ready for you.” 

Stark nodded dumbly, mouth in a filthy, open-mouth smirk. 

Steve made it out the door without protest, shut it behind him, and walked down the hall quickly before hitting Pepper’s number. 

“Yeah? Please tell me you’re not having trouble; I have to deal with this situation here.”

“No, I think we’re fine. I just— How do you lock Mr. Stark’s door?”

“Just ask Jarvis to do it.” There was some yelling in the background, and then it was muffled, but he could still make out Pepper shouting at someone. 

As he waited, he buttoned up his shirt, then asked, “Who’s Jarvis, exactly?”

“AI. Tony built a computer-butler-thing for the house. It’s voice-activated.” How strange. That was honestly one of the oddest things he’d ever heard of. “I’ve gotta go. See you in a few.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, but she’d already hung up. He slipped his phone in his pocket and looked around, up at the ceiling. “Um, Jarvis?”

“How may I be of service?” said a vaguely-mechanical British voice. The same that ushered him in the front door what felt like a day ago. Alright. He could work with it.

“Hi. Um. I’m Steve? I’m replacing Pepper as Mr. Stark’s PA? Uh, this is— well, the thing is, Mr. Stark needs to sleep off a few. Could you lock his door so he can’t come out until he’s slept?”

“Yes, Mr. Rogers. Will there be anything else?”

Steve thought about it for a moment. “Well, do you by any chance do surveillance?”

“There is recording equipment hidden in many locations both inside and outside the house. It is all stored on an external hard drive.”

“Alright. Never mind. Thank you.”

“Glad to be of service, Mr. Rogers.” There was something of a personality behind it that kind of freaked Steve out. The fact that Stark had built it was kind of impressive, though. It seemed pretty intelligent. 

 _Stark did have a few surprises up his sleeve_ , Steve thought as he found his tuxedo jacket on top of a floor lamp. 


	3. Tony Stark Is Allergic to the Full Spectrum of Human Emotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa! Time jump!  
> But do not fear! That first night is going to come back again later....  
> Also, chapter length consistency is kind of a myth, but probs expect closer to this length than the lengths of the other two chapters.  
> Also, my brain is apparently confused as to whether it ships Natasha/Clint or if Bruce is in there somewhere, but whatever.

Eighteen Months Later

 

Steve’s morning routine started at six, something he used to think of as early, once upon a time, but he was used to not sleeping much by then. There were actually two versions (and two versions only) of his routine, but that morning was the longer one. That was how it usually went, and he ticked off his little list as he worked:

_Slip into Tony’s room to collect the guest’s clothes._

_Send Happy out with the dry cleaning._

_Work out in Tony’s gym (not that Tony ever used it, to his knowledge)._

_Shower._

_Write the guest’s apology note._

_Make the guest breakfast._

_Check Tony’s schedule for the day._

_Send out apologies (if necessary)._

_Make Tony’s breakfast._

_Greet the Kraken._

As it was, Steve was standing outside the basement door with a covered plate of the biggest breakfast he could make, a tall mug of hot coffee, and a lingering sigh. The guest that morning had cried. Just a little, but he hated it more than anything when they cried. And then she had thrown her plate at him. That was less-than-ideal, but he could take it. It was always the tears that got to him, though.

“Jarvis, what’s Tony’s status?”

“I do not have evidence of sleep for forty-seven hours. He has not eaten in the house in thirty hours, Mr. Rogers. Shall I run the neglect override codes?” _Great_. So Tony hadn’t eaten what Steve had brought him. Well, he wasn’t going to get out of it that morning.

“Yeah. Sorry about that.” Really, Steve and Jarvis had a sort of understanding. Tony had coding in place to keep everyone out of his workshop, no exceptions, unless he was having a medical emergency. Jarvis had said it was due to “inebriated programming in the early days of his creation”, but somehow the AI had been programmed with the three laws of robotics. Steve had had to look it up, but in their case, it meant that Jarvis would always open the doors for Steve if he had food or promised to make Tony sleep unless Tony was, well, _entertaining_ in the workroom. (Jarvis had said that this had only ever happened on two occasions since the house had been built, both before he was hired and both with Pepper, which, in all honesty, was rather more information than Steve had wanted.) 

“I should have alerted you. Would you like me to set a subroutine to alert you if he has not slept or eaten in a certain time period? Given his age, I would suggest twenty-four hours.”

“Yeah. Do that. Thanks, Jarvis.” 

If he thought about, yeah, there was some truth to Tony’s complaints that his PA and AI were plotting against him; they certainly were. But it took two to keep up with a brain like Tony’s, Steve had figured that out soon enough.

When the door slid open, he was not expecting to see Pepper. If he’d known she’d dropped by, he’d have brought her down a coffee.

Still, his mouth ran on, fighting for airspace like he’d gotten used to, saying, “You _need_ to eat. We’ve talked about this. It won’t kill you, and I know you like my omelets. So _eat_.” Usually, when he tried to tell Tony to eat, he received a glare. If Tony was in a particular mood, he’d be met with a rude finger as well. This was different. There was a flash of that glare, but it was replaced by this other look. Steve had seen him look at scrap metal like that. Like he was having a breakthrough of some sort. “Wha-“

“Tony, no. No no no no no no _no_. Don’t _even_ go there,” Pepper said, grabbing his arm. 

“ _Think about it._ It’s the _perfect_ solution. And he’ll do it. I would bet on it.”

“You’d bet on anything,” Steve said. “And what’s going on, exactly?”

 

Fifteen Minutes Earlier

 

Tony was soldering the motherboard into what used to be a toaster when Pepper burst through the door with a sheaf of papers and righteous ginger rage. 

“Did you _know_ about this?” She wasn’t yelling, but her voice was very intense, which was her equivalent. Really though, he had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. 

“I’m going to say ‘yes’ just in case,” he said, flipping up his visor. “What is it?

“ _Read. This_.” 

Tony grabbed the papers from her hands, reading through quickly. Stopped. Read them again. Blinked. Reread. 

“What the fuck? Is this like what happened to Obama? When they tried to claim The Lion King was documentation of his birth or something? There’s no way this is real. Jarvis, pull up a copy of my birth certificate.”

There was a slight pause, then, “No such document found.”

“Huh.” Tony leaned against his workbench. “So this is definitely real? I don’t want to freak out if you haven’t had a bunch of over-paid assholes sit on their asses and try to figure it out first.”

“Tony, that was my yesterday. Nothing. There’s not a single document in any records we can find that proves your citizenship.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ve lived here for _over_ _thirty-five years_. There’s no way I could live here that long and not be a citizen. That’s stupid and ridiculous.” 

“Think about it: you’ve never had to apply for a job, the admissions board of MIT knew your family personally so they wouldn’t bother. You’ve never had a reason to look for it since you avoid Customs when you fly. I was assured that it happens sometimes. New parents who give birth overseas sometimes forget to fill out all of the necessary paperwork, and it wasn’t like anyone was going to badger Howard Stark about something that seemed so trivial. We’ve got to figure out what to do before you’ve got Immigration knocking on your door.”

“Oh, come on! They’re not going to deport me to _Greenland_. I don’t do cold well, Pepper. You know that.”

“I know. And I also know that if Stark Industries’ think-tank gets deported, our stock options are going to plummet before you set foot on the snow-“

“Wait, how long does it take to get naturalized? I must have done that already. Way to panic prematurely, Pep.”

“Five years. And there’s paperwork. But to _get_ the paper work, we have to admit that you’re not a citizen-“

“Then why don’t we-“

“Because your father’s will was specific and clearly written by someone who lived through the Second World War. Have you read it? Good. Because let me tell you, it was _long_ and _detailed_ , and what this all boils down to is that everything — stocks, assets, anything in an account he originated —  will be ceded to Stark Enterprises if a direct heir isn’t able to possess it all. Only that direct heir has to be an American citizen born of two American parents-“

“Are you fucking kidding me? That’s such a low blow.” Pepper looked confused, and she should, because Howard was a petty asshole, as far as Tony was concerned, who took things far too seriously. “I threaten to marry a Russian as a joke _just once_ , and he works it out so I have to marry an American if I want my kid to inherit the family fortune? Way to be a racist, Howard. I guess I should be thankful she wasn’t German, or I’d have been disowned.”

“So what you’re saying is that you actually brought this all upon yourself in a fit of teen rebellion? Mature. I would love to punch teenage-you in the face right now, Tony, because this is a massive pile of poop and I really don’t know what to do about it. The second anyone in the press gets wind of this, you’re screwed.” 

“Thanks. Really. All I wanted—“

Pepper shushed him. “If it’s not a solution to this— this _shit-storm_? I don’t want to hear it right now. You have no idea what a terrible position this is for everyone.” 

If she hadn’t looked so serious, Tony would have made a joke or just babbled until something came to him, but he chose to think silently instead, largely for his own wellbeing. He paced, rubbing his temples, thinking about everything he’d ever seen or heard about citizenship. It took him five steps. 

Tony stopped, staring at her with a grin when he figured it out. “Marry me.”

“What? No, Tony, this is not the ti— Oh. _Oh_.” She thought it over, chewing her lower lip. “I…I’m seeing someone, Tony. _And_ it’s fraud. And I’m too busy to plan a wedding right now. I can’t. It wouldn’t be right.” 

“You’re…you’re dating again?” He didn’t know why it was surprising to him. They’d been separated for what? Two years? If that? She was gorgeous and accomplished and getting close to the settling-down age that people like her cared about; she _should_ be dating. Of course Pepper was dating. Ridiculous that he hadn’t considered it. 

“We’ve been seeing each other for a few months. He’s a good man. It wouldn’t be fair to him.

“I don’t know—“ He was interrupted by the door sliding open and an all-too-familiar voice saying, “You _need_ to eat. We’ve talked about this….” Tony tuned the nourishment diatribe out naturally, like he always did, but suddenly, he _knew_ he had the perfect solution. Knew it like he knew how to make a machine do what he wanted. _It had to be Steve_. Steve would do it. He was the most idiotic type of self-sacrificing, and that was what Tony needed. Because Steve would fucking do it _out of the good of his little Boy Scout heart_. And if he didn’t, well, Steve wouldn’t have a job, so there was job security and intrinsic motivation and _jesus fuck_ , it was perfect—

“Tony, no. No no no no no no _no_. Don’t _even_ go there.”

But Tony wasn’t really listening, because this was _it_. “ _Think about it._ It’s the _perfect_ solution. And he’ll do it. I would bet on it.”

“You’d bet on anything,” Steve retorted. “And what’s going on, exactly?” Oh, he would _so_ do it. He was fucking golden. 

Tony, distantly aware that he was grinning wide, said, “What’s going on, Steve, is that you’re going to save my life, and it’s going to be really really easy and you won’t have to lift a finger or do anything weird or—” 

“No, I will not give a press conference for you so you can get drunk instead of admitting that you made a fool of yourself or offended someone in office. You made your bed, so lie in it.”

Tony sighed as Pepper shook her head, saying, “I’m not going to be a part of this. Steve, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I know that—“

“I need you to let me marry you, Steve. By the way, are those hashbrowns?”

“Yes, and _are you high_? Seriously, have you taken any drugs? Pepper, I swear, I would have told you if I thought it was _this_ bad—“

“I’m not _high_ , Jesus, Steve, why would you— actually, better yet, don’t answer that.” Tony walked over, took the plate from his hands, and looked him straight-on. “I need. To marry. You. Or I’ll be broke and deported. To Greenland. That’s the one that’s like hell frozen over,  not the other one with the misleading name that’s actually a really nice place to live, and you know I don’t do the cold.”

“Are you—?” Steve narrowed his eyes. “Pepper, is he being serious? I can’t tell.”

“It’s…it’s a sticky situation, yes. He’s completely serious. But Steve, you don’t—“

“Don’t you dare try to talk him out of it! Let him make his own decision.” And Tony backed away. It was really hard for him to do, but he wasn’t going to try to force things. If Steve was allowed to make up his own mind, he’d do it. And in his experience, the more Tony talked, the more likely it was that Steve would disagree with him. His mouth was sewn shut. 

Steve was clearly thinking about it. He thought with his face most of the time, and Tony could just _see_ him weighing the options. But he would do it. He always buttoned his top button and made Tony breakfast from scratch; _of course_ he would do it. 

“I have conditions,” Steve said, and Tony punched the air. “First: not here. I will not have some over-the-top wedding with ten thousand possibly famous people I don’t know. I want to do it at home. _My_ home. Which brings us to the second: _I_ will be the one telling my friends — _yes_ , Mr. Stark, I do actually _have friends_ — about this. We do it when I want and how I want. Oh, and third: you’re going to give me as much money as I need to start a charitable organization of my choosing, and then you will promote it. In a television advertisement.” Damn. Steve _knew_ how much he hated doing TV ads. That asshole. “So. With Pepper as my witness, do you agree to those terms?”

Tony batted his hand. “Sure, fine, we’ll go to the Bronx—“

“ _Brooklyn_. I’m from _Brooklyn_.” 

“—Then we’ll go to _Brooklyn_ , and tie the knot. Pack up, I’ll tell Happy we leave in fifteen.” 

“How can I— You _do_ know that I don’t actually _live_ here, don’t you?”

“Since when? You’re _always_ here.”

“Yes. Because I commute. At five-thirty every morning and after you go to bed every night. Which is usually the morning.” _That_ was new information. “How did you not notice that I’m not using any of the guest rooms?”

“Uh, because I never go in them? Jesus, you’re definitely the wife.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Alright, fourth condition: you don’t refer to me a ‘the wife’ or any derivative thereof. You do not ‘wear the pants’ in the relationship, either. I am not a woman. You want a woman, then you can find one who will marry you. Have fun.” Tony forced himself not to recoil because that was a verbal slap if ever that was one and _when did Steve get so mean_? No, he wasn’t going to react, wasn’t going to rise to it. 

“Tell Happy on your way out that the wheels go up in an hour.” With that, he went back to his workstation, flipped his visor down, and went back to work. 

“Eat your—“

“Jarvis, music.” 

The rest of Steve’s sentence was quickly drowned out.

 

“Ooh, please tell me what Lucifer has done this time. I need a laugh at your expense.”

Steve pulled the phone away from his face for a second to glare at it, as if that would be sent by satellite to the other end. “Look, Bucky, I’m going to be coming home for a little bit. I just wanted to let you know so you can maybe clear all of your stuff off my bed by the time I get there. I…I’ll have to talk to you. All of you. Can you see if everyone’s free for dinner tonight?”

“Will do! I guarantee you their schedules will clear up at the promise of an actual face-to-face. We’ve missed you, man. But don’t think you’re going to get out of being yelled at for up and leaving then not showing your face around here for— what’s it been?”

“Just about a year and a half,” Steve said very softly.

“Oh, good! For _a year and a half_. You get your ass home.”

Steve smiled, breathing deep. “Yeah. I missed you all, too. A lot. But I’ll be home soon. I can’t wait to see everyone.”

“Wait…” Bucky’s voice did little to hide his excitement. “Are you home for good? Have you finally quit working for Satan? If you say yes, I’m buying drinks tonight—“

“No. Nothing like that. But I should be able to swing coming home a little more often after this.”

“Good. Been so long since I’ve seen your ugly mug, I hardly even remember what you look like. My ego is hurting.” They laughed, and for a moment, it felt like Steve was back in his old apartment, watching baseball with the whole group and having a great time, even though Bucky had a passion for the Yankees that couldn’t really be excused and Bruce never bothered to learn the rules of the game and Natasha once won _all_ of their non-rent money on a single game, but bought everyone beers anyway. God, he missed them all. 

“Can’t have that. I miss being your wingman.” He sighed, then checked his watch. “Look, I’ve gotta go, but I’ll see you soon? Give everyone my love.”

“You got it, bro. See ya.”

Steve put his phone away, smoothed his blazer. It was going to be one hell of a night. 

 

It was as he entered the cabin that Steve realized that he’d never actually been on a plane with Tony before. Pepper told him once that Tony used to be quite the jet-setter, that he would take day trips to the Galapagos and fly to Milan for espresso on a whim, but that he’d slowed to a stop on that front. 

What Steve hated most about his job was that Tony was so obviously trapped in a habit of pushing himself deeper and deeper into a hole and never bothered to ask for help to stop, even when he had people all around him who would. Steve himself, Pepper, Rhodey, Happy. Tony wasn’t alone, but he was stuck in that stupid Lone Ranger mentality—

“Will you sit down? You’re making my _nerves_ nervous.”

Steve sat across from Tony. Pulled out a notebook (he greatly preferred paper over the screen of his Starkphone, employer be darned) and started writing. Listing, specifically. After a few moments of pretending not to be curious, Tony became annoyingly obvious about the fact that he was reading what Steve was writing upside-down. 

“What does Van Gogh have to do with anything?” he asked at last, waving over a flight attendant for a drink.

“This,” Steve began, still writing, “is for you. It’s a list of all of the things my friends are going to expect you to know about me that you don’t. Needless to say, it’s going to be a few pages more. Fortunately, _I_ know enough about _you_ that pretending we’ve been in a relationship for some time won’t be especially difficult for me. But you’ll need some work, and my friends are both smart and perceptive. Some of them, anyway. Bucky’ll give you a real shake-down, though. I just—“ Steve sighed, shook his head, went back to writing. 

“What? Scared I’ll intimidate them? I’ll have you know, I can be very sociable. Ask anyone. I’m the paragon of charm and charisma. I make my living off of it. Or I would, if I had to make a living.” 

Steve looked up, miffed. “It’s just going to be rather difficult explaining to them how my boss who they know as the Devil — _their_ name, _not_ mine — became my…my _fiancé_ when I didn’t tell them that we had a relationship in the first place! Believe it or not, but this actually does affect more than just _you_ , and now I have to figure out what to say to them. So thank you. For that. They don’t even know—” He shook his head again, then buried himself back in his writing. 

“Know what?”

“It’s nothing.” Steve didn’t look up, but he could see Tony’s elbows settle on the table as he leaned forward. 

Tony’s voice was sing-song as he called, “ _Bullshit_.”

“ _Fine._ ” Steve put down his pen, angry that the situation even existed in the first place. “They don’t— Well, I’ve only ever dated women. So I’m not _just_ going to be announcing an engagement; I’ll have to ‘come out’ as well. Thank you. _Really_.”

“They don’t know you like men?” It was really too much, this. Because Tony clearly didn’t know him at all — he saw what he wanted to see, and what he wanted to see was the newbie he’d tried to sleep with the first night they’d met, or at least how that newbie had acted. That is: _interested_. Tony operated in a world where everyone wanted _something_ from him, and he’d made up his mind from the start that what Steve wanted was sex. And he was wrong. 

“No. Because I don’t.” _Not enough to ever want to act on it_ was the more accurate way to finish that, sure, but it was no use giving Tony erroneous ideas about things like that. “Not that you’ve ever asked about my personal life once in the entire time I’ve worked for you. So you wouldn’t really know, would you? Unless you asked. And that would be why I’m making the list.”

“Because I don’t know the specifics of your sexual preferences? That’s a little extreme, if I do say so myself.”

“No, because you thought I was from the Bronx.”

“But they both—!”

“ _I don’t care_ that they both start with B’s, Mr. Stark. They’re completely different. Bucky would slug you if you tried to tell him he was from the Bronx.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know Bucky, do I? Also, it’s _Tony_. I’m pretty sure I’ve been telling you that for the last three years—“

“Except I’ve only been working for you for half that time.”

“—And now we’re going to be married, so you should probably start calling me by my first name. Don’t want your little friends to get suspicious, do we? So it’s Tony. Like I always say, Mr. Stark is my father.”

“And my boss. My boss who didn’t know what borough I was from until a year and a half into my employment. My boss who thought I lived in his house because he never bothered to check. I would say the formality is fitting. But I _will_ address you by your first name in front of my friends because you are right about that. However, until then, Mr. Stark, I’d like to keep it professional.”

“Fine. _Mr. Rogers_.” It was funny; he looked like he thought he’d won something.

Steve, only largely mocking, pulled out what he could. “Thank you for addressing me respectfully and professionally, Mr. Stark. It affirms my decision to withhold the some-odd hundred valid sexual harassment complaints I could have used to gain better employment and a much healthier work environment.” 

It was comical, the way Tony nearly sputtered, but he just about managed to hold his composure. 

“You wouldn’t. I was never— There may have been a few comments, sure, but those were all jokes. You knew that.”

“Actually, fun fact: lewd jokes are a form of sexual harassment. One of many. I’m pretty familiar with the full range. Pepper assured me that if it got to be too much, she would help me find a similar position with another individual.”

“Wha— _You complained to Pepper_?”

“No, actually, I kept my mouth shut. She read one of your text messages to me when we were having lunch a few months ago and interrogated me about it.”

“ _You have lunch with Pepper_?”

Steve grinned. “Pepper and I have grown close. We find time for lunch a few times a month to talk shop.” 

“Am I the shop in this scenario?”

Steve touched his own nose, smiling a little. Tony sighed dramatically, sinking into his chair. 

“I don’t think I’ve heard you talk this much in months, and I kind of wish you’d kept your mouth shut; you’re mean, Rogers. Hurtful, even.”

“I don’t like bullies.”

Tony frowned, looking _extremely_ confused. “How does that have to do with anything? Are you actually implying that _I_ —“ he laid an offended hand on his chest “—that _me_ , Tony Stark, who gives millions each year in charitable donations, am a bully? That’s ridiculous.”

“Are you seriously asking me that? I didn’t break five and a half feet until I was eighteen, weighed about ninety pounds, had to actually _fight to survive_ , and you’re trying to tell me that I don’t know what a bully looks like when I see one?”

“I….” He took a swallow or two of his drink and stared out the window, pensive. “I never meant to…yeah. That. I’m…you know. So!” He leaned forward, looking at the paper. “What are you writing? When are you going to let me read it?”

“Here.” Steve ripped off the first page, continuing on to the second. “Enjoy. Pay special attention to my drink and pizza preferences. We’re going to be eating out with my friends tonight, and since you’re the one who has to impress them, you should probably order for me. It’ll make it look like you _care_.” He snorted, continuing onward, listing everything about himself that came to mind while Tony started reading.

After a few moments, Tony broke the silence. “So, ignoring the obvious jabs at the Dodgers,  if we’re having dinner with your…people? There’s a little steakhouse I know of, why don’t you buy out the private room on my behalf?”

Steve made a face. “Not on your life. I’ve been out of the city for a year and a half; we’re going to Zarino’s. Best pizza in Brooklyn, not any of that crap they sell in California, and it’s only a block away from my apartment.” Tony looked aghast. Like he was going to have a heart attack of some sort. 

“Your _apartment_? Let me guess: one bedroom, four hundred square feet, completely devoid of life or excitement on even a fundamental level? No thank you. We’ll be staying in my Long Island residence. You’ll have to call ahead to let the long-term housekeeping staff know to expect us.”

“There’s a Long Island Residence?”

“Yes, and one in Manhattan,” he said, ticking them off on his fingers, “one in the Hamptons, one in Miami, and one on Maui, not to mention the international properties. You’ve been working for me how long and didn’t know this?”

“I knew about the Miami, Manhattan, and the London and Barcelona residences, but I didn’t realize there was property in New York.”

“I’m an internationally known billionaire and you didn’t think I owned any property in New York City?” he asked drily. 

“You’ve never left California for anywhere other than your yacht.” 

Tony shrugged. “So I haven’t been into traveling lately. I’ve been busy. I’ve made prototypes of tech people thought was science fiction ten years ago, so, you know, _excuse me_ for being dedicated to my work.”

“So dedicated that you _stop eating or sleeping for days on end_.”

“I go out.” It’s soft, like he knows it isn’t helping.

“Yes, that you do. You go out to parties or clubs to get drunk, make yourself look like an idiot, and find strangers to bring home with you, you tell them they’re special, and then when they’re asleep, you leave them in your bed so you can keep working.” Steve wasn’t actually one-hundred-percent on that, but he had a strong feeling, and Tony’s expression proved it to be right. “And then I get to handle all of the messes you made. Because that’s my job, and you know what? I’m actually really good at it, even if I can’t ever be great at it.”

Tony snorted, rolling his eyes. “Oh, and why is that?”

“Because I can’t make you stop. I’m barely able to convince you to eat and sleep enough to stay alive, but you don’t trust or respect me enough to stay in or not get drunk on any particular night when I ask. I’m still trying to figure out _exactly_ why that is, but I have a few guesses.” Tony’s jaw was clenched; he was out of words. “I’m thinking — just guessing, mind you — that it’s because you’re angry. That I’ve upset you somehow. And I can’t figure out _why_ you’d be angry, and then I remember something Pepper said to me once: that you’d stop pretending to come on to me when you began to respect me, and I know that I must have done something that got you stuck in the first stage, but I don’t know what. So what was it? What did I do wrong?”

Tony looked away, out the window.

“What, nothing? Fine. But I just need you to understand that I am doing this, that I am _marrying you_ , for you. Because I know that somewhere in there, you’re worth it. Pepper likes you, and that’s enough for me. But I’m really hoping that you’ll come away from all of this thinking of me as a person. Maybe we can even be friends. If you want. I’d like that.” 

Tony didn’t look at him, but the corner of his mouth twitched, almost like a smile for a split second. 

The problem here wasn’t that Steve thought Tony was a bad person. Alright, he was a bad person to _work for_ , but only because he didn’t know how to take care of himself. Or, rather, thought he didn’t need to. And when he really thought about it, Steve knew that it wasn’t a left-over quirk from having people paid to wipe his rear all of his life, but rather, it had more to do with him just not thinking that that sort of thing was important. Which was why Steve didn’t actually dislike him. Self-negligence was a cousin to selflessness, and Steve wasn’t blind or stupid enough to think that most of the things, especially the partying and the public fiascos, were things Tony did for himself. No, he was giving them _Tony Stark_ ; he was playing that role for them because that was what he did. It was something Steve figured out pretty quick, and it was why he stuck around in the first place. Maybe, one day, Tony would stop thinking he had to be Tony Stark and just be Tony for a while. That was really all Steve wanted from him, in a broad way.

It wasn’t until after Steve made his phone calls and had handed Tony the other two sheets of paper that Tony really asked him about any of it. 

“So, art. Not what I would have imagined. Not that you can’t be _cultured_ , per se, but you look more like the weight-lifting type than an art museum kind of guy.”

Steve nearly laughed. “None of my old friends from art school would have ever believed someone would say that to me.”

“You went to _art school_?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, shrugging, “a couple of my friends are from school. I’ll…here, take this. You’re taking notes.”

“ _Notes_? Did you seriously just tell me to take notes? Are we in grade school?”

“I have a hand cramp—“

“Probably because you’re writing by hand like some sort of prehistoric form of early man—“

“—And I don’t think it’s particularly fair that I’m doing all the work when I’m the one doing you the favor. You want to get away with marrying me for your citizenship, you can put in a little effort. Not even a lot. Just jot down what you’ll need to remember what I tell you about my friends so we can pretend I’ve been telling you about them for months. So.” He pushed the notepad and pen across the table. “Notes.”

“Fine. But since I’ve made it into this millennium, I’m using my phone. _Like a human being_.”

“Whatever floats your boat.” Steve took a few sips of water and a deep breath. “So. There’s Bucky. Best friend since elementary school. He enlisted right out of high school, but he does consultant work now. We’ve been roommates since I graduated college. He’s flirtatious, just a warning, but absolutely uninterested in men, _believe me_ , so don’t try anything there. He actually watched Brokeback Mountain to see Anne Hathway’s breasts. Good guy, though. He used to beat the crap out of people for beating the crap out of me. We’re like brothers. Anyway. Then there’s Natasha. She and Bucky dated on and off for a while, which didn’t really work out, but she’s still one of us. She’s a lawyer or a mediator or something like that. Also, she’s terrifying. Understand that if you hit on her, you put your life at risk. She knows Krav Maga or something, but she also gives really great advice because she’s wicked smart and has more common sense in her pinky toe than you’ve had in your whole life.”

“She’s really hot, isn’t she?”

Steve sighed. “Natasha is beautiful, but she’s too much for you. Also, I think she and Bruce had a thing last time I checked? Or maybe Clint. Never really clear on that. But you’d really like Bruce, I think. He’s a physicist. Works at some lab. Quiet, though, and he keeps to himself. He gets stressed pretty easy, so careful there, but he’s a great guy. Great cook, too. I’ll ask him to make pancakes sometime. They’re incredible. Oh, and then there’s Clint. You may have seen him? He’s on YouTube, does these archery stunts. They tried to prove that some of them were stage on what’s that show? Mythbusters? But yeah, he’s got crazy skills. He’s also, well, I suppose you’d call him a geek. But he’s really cool. You should look him up.” Steve heard music coming from Tony’s phone, then his eyebrows shot up.

“Whoa. That’s real? He’s got mad skills. That’s crazy. Ooh, slow-mo replay— _damn_. Why do you have cool friends, Rogers?”

“I don’t know. Just sort of happened.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, then from school, there’s Thor and— Oh, I think you’ll like him. We think he’s an actor or something. At least he did performance art. For as long as we’ve known him, he’s been in-character as Thor. The Norse god, I mean. Sometimes he wears a costume, and he always speaks like he’s in a play, but he’s actually really fun. I think he can out-drink you, actually. Well, I _know_ Natasha can, but the whole Viking thing is a little bit more flamboyant and more your style. Also, he may or may not have brother named Loki who’s also a performance artist, but we’ve never seen him, so we can’t be sure. There’s also Jane. She works with Bruce, but she and Thor have been dating since we first met Bruce basically. And there’s Darcy, who I went to school with. She does these really interesting statement pieces, and she’s got a great sense of humor. I think you’d really get along with her. You could bond over your mutual love of sarcasm. But she’s definitely too young for you, and we’ll all kill you if you mess with her.” Tony looked up and stared at him for a moment, then looked back at his phone. “So that’s basically the whole group. Or it was last time I saw them. Who knows. It’s been a while. Don’t exactly get a lot of vacation time.”

Tony didn’t say anything more, which was weird for him, but Steve hoped he was working on memorizing everything he’d given him.

For the rest of the flight, Steve chewed his lip, excited and nervous all at once. He still had to figure out how he was going to tell everyone about the situation. Maybe he could play off the not-telling-them as a side effect of Tony being a man? They might buy that, but who knew. It was a mess, but Steve had a lot of experience dealing with messes.


	4. Home is Where the Best Pizza Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a good night, mostly. Somehow they manage to screw it up anyway.

Maybe a part of Steve should have felt bad about thrusting Tony into the murky world of less-than-five-star restaurants, but stepping foot in Zarino’s, getting a lungful of the unmistakable smell of leather seats, baking pizza dough, and the real Brooklyn air beneath it all, he forgot himself in the feeling of home. _This_ was where he belonged. How he’d survived being away for so long was a complete mystery.

“So where’s your little street gang of nerds?” Tony asked, loosening his tie. The fact that he was wearing a suit at all made him immediately look out of place, but they’d touched down late and hadn’t had time to change. Steve was fine, having untucked and unbuttoned his dress shirt to reveal the tee underneath, but he could see a couple of people giving Tony looks. 

“Probably the back. There’s a circular booth. Come on, I’ll show you.” Steve hesitated for a moment before taking him by the hand. It would do to start keeping up appearances as soon as possible, and Tony caught on to that immediately, though he was barely paying attention to his boss because he could see the top of a red head and could hear Bucky’s full, loud laugh. He was so close—

“Oh my God, _Steve!_ ” came a high-pitched voice, and suddenly, he had an armful of Darcy. It was barely a second before he was surrounded, and God, he never would have thought about it, but he could _smell_ them, each of the particular smells, like laundry detergent and home, and really, it had to be the best feeling in the world. 

In the end, everyone got their own hug, even Natasha, who hated hugs on principal because she might have actually been a robot (verdict was still out on that one), though Steve wasn’t particularly sure if he actually survived Thor’s hug, or if he just passed out from lack of oxygen. He saved Bucky for last because that was a long one, warm and tight and shaking because they were both laughing they were so happy. But how Steve loved them all. He almost made the rounds for second hugs, but realized that Bucky had his eyes narrowed at someone behind him, and _oh yeah_ , Tony was there. 

“Hey, guys, this is Tony,” he said, bringing him into the fold with a hand on his back. “Be nice.”

“Nice?” Bucky looked at him with disbelief, and Steve could only offer him a little shrug. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Natasha staring him down. Everyone else looked a little awkward, except for Darcy, who stepped right in front of him and extended a hand.

“Tony Stark. American tabloid icon and evil incarnate. To what do we owe the pleasure?” 

“Darcy, I said _be nice_ ,” Steve hissed, then threw Tony a grin. “Sorry. Um.”

“Hey, I _was_ being nice,” she said. “I didn’t hassle him about why he followed you here on your first trip home in _too fucking long_.”

“She has a point,” Bucky threw in. “I have half a mind to ask myself.”

So. It was going to be like that. He was just going to have to throw it out there.

Steve shoved his hands in his pockets and said, “Alright. Well. You guys should sit down then.” They all looked like they thought something fishy was going on, and Steve didn’t blame them one bit. “I haven’t been entirely honest over the phone. For, well, about a year. The thing is, well,” he tentatively draped an arm over Tony’s shoulders “we’ve been, uh, seeing each other. Dating.”

There’re a few jaws on the table, and everyone is dead silent. Tony shifts a little, and Steve feels a hand settle between his shoulder blades.

“Press issue,” Tony filled in smoothly, like he’d practiced it. “Couldn’t let anyone find out I was having an affair with my PA. Too much of a scandal. Bad for both of our reputations. Couldn’t let Steve tell you anything over the phone, just in case it got out before we wanted it to. It would ruin Steve’s career if they thought he was just sleeping with me because I’m his boss—“

“Which is why we’re here. We’re going to make it public soon. Just as soon as we get married.”

Now only one person looked like they were in control of their face, and that was Natasha. Not surprising; she probably dealt with stranger stuff on a daily basis with her job. 

“Since when are you gay?” Bucky asked bluntly after a moment. 

“He’s bisexual,” Natasha corrected, taking a sip of her drink. Steve nodded after a second, but just about everyone looked skeptical. Once she put her drink down, she looked around at the silent stares. “Come on, we’ve known him for how long? This is ridiculous and I’m hungry.” Steve was about to protest, entirely on instinct, that no, he wasn’t _actually_ interested in men, since she seemed so _sure_ , but _just_ managed to hold himself back. 

“ _Well_ ,” Bucky said, coughing. “We love and accept you for who you are, blah blah blah, doesn’t need saying, and I promise not to interrogate him any more than I would a girl. So. I vote we get at least one large meat trio because I am fucking _starving_.”

“Yeah, and because you eat meat on your pizza even though it’s an abomination,” Bruce said. “We’ve got to get a margherita. Everyone eats that.”

“Only because it’s the most basic a pizza can be while still retaining pizza-like qualities. Sausage and peppers all the way. And olives. Don’t forget the olives,” Clint said, throwing down his menu with a smack. 

Jane leaned over the table from behind Thor. “You’re the only one who eats olives. No way!”

“Then pick them off!”

“I can’t hear you over the sound of us getting at least three pepperoni pizzas,” Darcy yelled over them. 

Steve grinned and pulled up a couple of chairs. They would always have this exact same argument. Every time. Good to know some things never changed. 

 

In the end, they got six pizzas for the nine of them. Part of this was because Thor, Steve, Clint, and Darcy could each eat at least half a pizza on their own, no problem, and also because they always got too many pizzas so they could split the leftovers. Tony dutifully piped up for Steve and let his arm rest on the back of his chair for the whole meal. 

Thankfully, Bucky waited until they were all stuffed before putting them through the wringer. 

“So, just curious, was it just the relationship you were hiding, or were you also lying about your, um, work conditions?” Steve was pretty sure that the only reason Bucky didn’t say anything more rude was because Tony was holding the bill hostage. Still, Tony wasn’t stupid, and Steve could feel his eyes on him.

“Well, you know me. I can never keep my mouth shut about whoever I’m interested in. I just sort of…channeled it a little differently so you wouldn’t know.” Bucky looked a little hurt. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to tell you in person, and I couldn’t get away.”

“He felt really bad about it,” Tony said, and Steve had to _force_ himself not to jump because he began running his fingers through the short hairs at the base of his scalp. “I mean, you know Steve. Total worrier. I would have flown us here sooner, but you know how it is. _Work_. My only mistress.” His thumb was warm as it rubbed the sensitive spot behind Steve’s ear. He made himself lean into the touch a little. 

“And thank goodness. I can barely get him out of the lab as it is.”

“I thought you usually liked the lab.” His words were innocent, but his smirk? Devilish. Steve was almost definitely blushing, and Bucky choked on his beer a little. He would have to pay him back for that one somehow.

“Yes, but I like it when you make me breakfast in bed better. The heart-shaped pancakes are always a treat.” _There_. Tony chuckled, messing up his hair like he was teasing, but Steve could see the tightness behind his smile. So he didn’t like being made to look romantic. Definitely workable, if he made too many sexual references. The ability to keep him in check would probably be useful, seeing as Tony rarely employed a verbal filter and had a sense of humor that made Steve uncomfortable at the best of times.

“That’s really fucking cute,” Darcy said, leaning into her hand with an elbow on the table. 

“It _is_ really sweet,” Jane agreed, smiling. 

“Wait,” Clint said, his mouth full because he ate slow and never really stopped eating, “how did you two get engaged in the first place? Who asked who?”

“I did,” Steve said quickly as Tony said, “He did.” Lucky. 

“It wasn’t really a big thing—“

“No way. No way are you going to pretend it was in anyway subtle. You were stressing about it for _weeks_.”

“So you knew that he was going to do it?” Darcy asked.

“Oh, I knew for—“

“He’s exaggerating. It wasn’t really that obvious. But I knew he’d figure out that I was going to ask, so I focused on having control over the one thing he couldn’t guess: how. I teased him for two weeks, pretending to lead up to it only to ask him something totally unrelated—“

“I saw what he was doing. I wasn’t blind or anything, I knew he was yanking my chain—“

“Only I managed to take him completely by surprise when it came down to it—“

“I wouldn’t say—“

“There were tears,” Steve said, grinning, because _that_ would maybe shut him up. 

“Maybe on your end. You blubbered a little. There was some blubbering—“

“He’s just really sensitive. He’s so embarrassed at how touched he was, he did this same thing when we told his boss.” There was a threat involving Pepper hidden under there, and Steve was certain Tony got it.

“Fine,” Tony said, accepting defeat, “I got a little choked up, but only because he got all blushy and schoolboy about it. It’s the dimples, I swear.” Steve may have actually blushed a little then, but he wouldn’t readily admit to it without concrete evidence. 

“Since he basically lives in the lab, that’s where I did it. I brought him breakfast, and I got down on one knee and that was that—“

“Not quite. There was a speech. A very long, Nicholas Sparks-style speech that I refuse to believe didn’t come from The Notebook, and since I refuse to watch it, no one can prove me wrong.”

“I demand the speech!” Thor boomed, bringing his beer mug down on the table. Steve was going to kill Tony; he definitely did _not_ have anything prepared for this. He couldn’t do it. 

“Yeah, I wanna hear this,” Bucky said, smirking. There was a bit too much agreement all around the table.

“No, I don’t think….I mean, it was a while ago and I don’t think I remember all of it—“

“That’s bullshit, guys,” Tony said with a look that could only be described as evil, “he wrote it down. Said he carried it in his pocket for a few days, spent weeks writing it. Hell, just last night he—“

“Look, maybe some other time? You know I don’t like being put on the spot. I’ll mess up.”

“I’m willing to allow you to tell us another time if you’ll give us a kiss,” Darcy said, shrugging. 

“What? That’s not—“

“Please? It isn’t as if you don’t do it all the time,” Jane said. Steve caught Bucky’s slight grimace, so maybe he could—

“A kiss! Or give us a speech!” And really, Thor needed to work on his inside voice because Steve was pretty sure that the entire establishment heard that. 

“I’d like to see it,” Natasha said with an unreadable look. Next to her, Clint nodded enthusiastically, still chewing.

“Fine,” Steve said quickly, and before he could think about it, pecked Tony on the lips. Faced everyone, smiled. “There, now—“

“Okay, even _I_ think that was a cop out,” Bucky said, “and I didn’t even really want to see it in the first place. That made Disney movies look dirty.” There was a chorus of agreement from all around, the betrayers. Well, not that they could really be blamed because they didn’t know, but it still felt like a betrayal.

“Hey, the people have spoken. Let’s give them what they want,” Tony said. His hand was still on Steve’s neck, he was suddenly aware. It was very warm. How strange, that— No, he was going to focus, to think of a good protest. But Tony wasn’t protesting at all; in fact, he was definitely leaning in, and alright, fine, Steve could do it. He’d do what had to be done. 

Tony’s head had a little tilt, and Steve turned the opposite way so their noses wouldn’t bump because that might give them away, if they looked too awkward or unpracticed. And it was really happening, he was really about to— Their lips met, and Steve would never, not in a lifetime, have thought that kissing Tony Stark would be like _this_. He would have expected ( _did_ expect) a tongue halfway down his throat or something, but he was not expecting the strange juxtaposition of a gentle mouth and the sharp brush of stubble. It was only just shy of chaste, the promise of something wetter and hotter hiding just behind—

Tony pulled away first, and Steve tried not to think of the sound they made when they parted, so loud in the hush spread out over the table. 

Steve cleared his throat. “Well. So. I think we’ve focused on us a little too much. What has everyone else been up to?”

Everyone began talking at once, like they were trying to cover up Steve’s awkward moment, but for some reason, what he was most aware of was Tony’s arm dropping to the back of his chair. 

 

“Are you guys going to stay in a hotel? Or…I mean, you’re welcome to come back to the apartment, it’s just— You know how soundproof our walls are. That is, not very. So, well….”

Steve was very proud of how much he didn’t react. “Bucky, it’s fine. Tony has a place. We’ll stay there.” That way, no one would think it was weird that they weren’t sharing a bed. 

“Actually,” Tony said, looking at the group, “there are _way_ too many rooms. I don’t do well with empty rooms. Superstition, whatever. Basically, if you all want a little vacation or something, I mean, not really since it’s more or less in town, but you know what I mean. Sometimes it’s nice to get away. If you all wanted to get away.” Steve looked at Tony, a little surprised. His generosity usually had more to do with money than people. Putting them all up in a hotel was one thing, but asking them to his place? That was out of character. Tony didn’t really do people. Alright, in the euphemistic sense, yes, and in the partying sense, but Steve had a deep suspicion that Tony was actually some sort of very confused introvert. He didn’t _need_ human interaction. He _used_ it, and to his advantage. But what was the advantage here?

“I could do with a comfy bed,” Darcy said. She was currently sleeping on Thor and Jane’s couch, Steve had learned at dinner, so yeah, that would be a step up.

Natasha and Clint shrugged, looking at each other. “I don’t think anyone would mind a change in scenery,” she said, looking at Bruce for confirmation. The three of them shared a two-bedroom apartment, had for years. Steve had always wondered how they worked out sleeping arrangements, but he never really wanted to _know_. 

“Good. Steve will text you the address. We’ll meet you there. An hour should be good?” He said the last part looking at Steve rather pointedly, then smirked. “Maybe closer to an hour and a half, actually. We’ll need some time to…unpack.” Steve was going to murder him. Or they were going to use that hour and a half to have a very long, involved discussion about what was and was not okay to talk about and imply around his friends. He didn’t need them speculating about his sex life. 

Steve sent the text out as soon as he got in the car. If he were to look at Tony, he’d be too angry, and there was a chance someone would see. 

“So. Your friends are alright. I don’t know what I was expecting with Thor, but….Anyway, Natasha is way too hot for anyone’s good. Bucky seems like he wouldn’t let you get away with anything, which is good because I get the feeling that you could dimple your way out of most trouble, not that you really seem like the type to get in trouble, but— Alright, I’m sure your phone must have grievously offended you, but that isn’t bulletproof glass; you keep touching the screen that hard and you’re going to break it.” Steve didn’t respond. “Indigestion? I could have told you that many slices of pepperoni can be a little harsh on your esophagus, but I couldn’t find it in my heart to stop you.”

Steve kept his eyes glued to his phone, debating sending a text to Pepper. Not a complaining one. Just a _hey, we got in fine and had a nice dinner and also would you be terribly upset if sedated Tony?_ That kind of thing. 

“Fine.” Tony was nodding passive-aggressively. “If I somehow did something wrong without noticing and made you upset, which I most definitely didn’t because I am perceptive as fuck and I never do anything wrong, if you told me what I did, I could maybe get somewhere in the ‘making amends’ department. If that were the case.” 

Steve sighed and set his phone down in his lap. “I’m completely fine. I had some business to attend to. If you had done something wrong, _believe me_ , you’d be the first to know.” He turned his phone over in his hands. “And if, perhaps, you could refrain from making sexual references about us to my friends, that would be much appreciated.”

“Oh, _sure_! Will do,” he said, oozing sarcasm, then let out a snort. “Do you know who I am at all? You are _aware_ that I have a particular reputation, aren’t you? If we were actually dating, actually going to get married, after having been in a relationship for a _year_ , as _you_ decided, do you honestly think we wouldn’t have had sex in every imaginable place and position by now? _Don’t kid yourself_. I know you have some kind of promise ring or something, but I’m not a wait-until-marriage kind of guy, and I’m _very_ persuasive. It would be _so_ out of character for me to not make references to all of the great sex we’re supposedly having.” 

“So, just out of curiosity, are you basing all of this on the _one_ committed relationship you’ve had? Or are you drawing upon experiences I’m unaware of?” It wasn’t the noblest of moves, but Steve was offended on too many levels to count; he wasn’t about to hold back.

“You want to play that game? Think very carefully before you answer, because I will not be responsible for my actions if you start something.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “When have you _ever_ taken responsibility for your actions?” Apparently, that was the gauntlet, and he hadn’t just _thrown_ it, he’d smacked Tony in the face with it first. 

“Fine, then let’s go.” Tony cracked his knuckles. “I think you only agreed to this because you’re too chicken shit to have ever had a relationship of your own, virgin boy. And ‘not gay’ my ass! Your repressed lust for Bucky could fill the diaries of every angsty teenager in the continental states. I used to wonder why you have that massive stick up your ass, but it’s pretty obvious you want it there.”

Steve didn’t hit him — that wouldn’t have been very professional — but it was a very near thing. “It’s actually funny how absolutely wrong you are. Not everything’s about sex, but then, I don’t think you can even comprehend that fact on a basic level. Just because you’re obsessed with sleeping with every willing body you can find doesn’t mean that everyone else has the same priorities. Tell me: do you do it so you don’t feel alone, or because you think your father never loved you?”

The punch had enough force to slam Steve’s back against the window. He was too in shock to even register the pain.

“ _Happy, stop the car_ ,” Tony ground out. Steve honestly thought he was going to be thrown from the car, but Tony surprised him. “Take Steve to the house. I’ll call you to come get me when I’m ready.” He slipped out of the car on the side with traffic, cars honking loudly, and Steve could only sit there, stunned. 

By the time the car pulled up to the looming brownstone, Steve could feel the bruise beneath his skin, aching and warm. It took him a moment to realize that they’d stopped. Everything just felt so surreal. 

Happy cleared his throat, and that got Steve’s brain working again. He’d messed up. He’d retaliated too far and hurt Tony. He’d made a mistake. Now he had to fix it. But how?

“What should I do?” he asked Happy, leaning forward towards the driver’s seat. Frankly, he didn’t trust Tony alone out there. His track record for taking care of himself and using good judgement was basically imaginary. 

“Well, you have several options. You can go inside and wait for him to come home, probably drunk and reeking of sex and even angrier with himself and you by extension, if that’s what you want to do. Or I can take you back to where I let him out and you can see about finding him. There’s a club in that area that he used to go to, when he used to live in New York. It might be wise to start there, but it’s your choice. I’m just the driver.”

Steve nodded. “Let’s go.”

 

Steve found the back of Tony’s head in the bar on his third visual sweep. Thrown back and finishing off a drink. As Tony moved from the bar, Steve could make out a row of empty glasses and a hundred dollar bill. Not good. Steve had wrestled him out of situations like this before, but Tony usually didn’t drink that much in a half hour, and Steve was never the reason he was drinking in the first place. Only he wasn’t drinking anymore. He was heading back, deeper into the club. There were too many people to easily follow him, too much noise to yell to him, but Steve pushed through. There was a giggling crowd that turned out to be rather resistant to being pushed through, so he almost missed it when Tony grabbed a man by his lapel, roughly, and dragged the man with him to wherever he was going. 

But Tony was faster. The crowd seemed to split for him. Steve had seen him angry, and that was probably why; one look at his face, and no one wanted to be in his way. 

When he finally squeezed through the mass, Steve found himself at the restrooms. The Men’s was easy enough to find, but the door was locked when he tried it. It wasn’t his usual MO to use his strength like this, but Steve didn’t really have a choice, did he? He threw his shoulder against the door and it didn’t put up any fight at all. 

And there was Tony. One hand on a man’s shoulder, clearly guiding him to his knees. In all fairness, Steve had seen worse from him.

“You?” Steve said, pointing at the guy, “can go enjoy the rest of your evening with someone else. Have a nice night.” The man scrambled to his feet and slid past him. Tony simply glared.

“Way to ruin my evening. Twice. Something tells me he would’ve been good, too. But I guess I’ll never know, will I?”

“Stop. Just stop it, alright?” Tony snorted at him, but that was to be expected. “Come on. Let’s just go.”

“ _Fuck you very much_ and _no_. Sorry, not going to happen. _You_ can go if you want. In fact, you should, unless you’re planning on making up for the blowjob I should be getting right now. In that case, by all means—“

“Oh, _for the love of_ —! Look, _I’m sorry_ , alright? I’m sorry I said what I did because I shouldn’t have, it was too far, and I wasn’t thinking because I was angry, so I’m sorry. Can you just accept my apology so we can go ho— so we can leave?” 

Tony stared at him for a moment, rage seeping out of him from every pore and orifice, practically an ocean of it, and then he marched right up and stopped maybe two feet in front of Steve. His expression turned more disgusted than anything else, a dark curl to his mouth that could only be described as a sneer. And then he spit in Steve’s face.

“ _Fuck_ your apology,” he ground out. Then just stood there. Like he was waiting for something. Steve wiped his face with the bottom of his shirt. Alright, it had been years and years since someone had spit on him, but it wasn’t the worst that had ever happened. He could take it. 

“Why are just _standing there_?” Tony yelled suddenly, a slight echo chasing his anger. “Any reasonable person would’ve taken a swing at me.”

Steve frowned. “Was that what you wanted? You wanted me to slug you? What, so we’d be even? That’s….” Steve really didn’t know what to say. It was so—

“Tit for tat. You punch me back, we’re fair and square, so go ahead.” He stood there, eyes urging Steve on, for almost a minute. “Just do it. So we can leave.” 

What was he supposed to do? There were times when he’d thought he’d love to have the opportunity, but now that it was standing in front of him, it didn’t feel right. _Wasn’t_ right. But Tony was waiting. Wanted him to do it.

Steve settled his left hand on Tony’s shoulder, pulled his right arm back like he was going to go for it, but he couldn’t. It was silly. So he did the next best thing: he wrapped his arms around Tony’s shoulders.

“I’m not letting go until you accept my apology,” he said to the hair just above Tony’s ear. 

“What? Are you—? Why aren’t you—? For fuck’s sake, you’re insufferable.” 

“Whatever you say. I’m still not letting go.” Maybe this was what Tony needed all along. A hug. No strings attached. No sex, no publicity, no ulterior motive. Just a hug. 

“What is this? Hugs not slugs? Come on, let me go. I don’t hug. Little known fact, but I’ve deemed you worthy of the knowledge. All for the low, low price of _letting me the fuck go_.” He struggled a little, but Steve knew his strength, and even though Tony had some muscle from whatever it was exactly that he did in the lab, Steve was just bigger. Not by much, but he’d also had less to drink. Was less clumsy for it. 

“We’re going to call a truce, alright? I’ll be nice if you’ll be nice. But first you have to accept my apology. Or we’re not going anywhere.” 

Tony huffed the most dramatic sigh in the entire existence of mankind, tucked his arms around Steve’s back and, with sarcasm, said, “Fair Steven, would you be ever so kind as to accept my acceptance of your apology?”

Steve chuckled. “Nice try, but say it like you mean it and then I will.”

“ _Fine_.” A moment of silence. “Steve, I accept your apology. I’m so— Hmm. That’s not a good word. Let me— I am so— Nope. Don’t like it. Uh. I’m so—rry. Too. As well. Whatever. For the…face. And that. So. Can you unhug me now? It’s infringing upon the bro code.”

And Steve did, but he almost didn’t want to. Tony Stark apologized to no one. Being the exception? Just about worthy of another embrace. But Steve had self-control, and anyway, it wasn’t a pressing thing. It was just nice. Maybe it could work out after all. 


	5. His Hands, They Never Found a Worthy Task

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Tony POV, some angst.

Tony was quiet the whole way home because he had no fucking clue what to say. Usually, that didn’t mean shit and his mouth would run on without him, but he had absolutely nada. His mouth was numb and twitching with inactivity. There had to be words to take what was in front of him and build something that would make sense again. There had to be something he could do, but his hands were useless in his lap. Who was he if he couldn't put his own life back together? (Well, alright, so that just made him himself.)

Steve was a mess. Well, alright, it was _Tony_ who was the mess and the fact that Steve wasn’t just made him really difficult to understand and therefore, comparatively, a mess. Or something. Normal people reacted to things in certain ways. For one, Steve wasn’t supposed to come get him. Not part of the plan. Two, Steve wasn’t supposed to find him before he worked out a little sexual aggression. Not okay. Who knows if he noticed that the guy was blond with his hair parted on the same side Steve did his on. He didn’t _say_ anything, but he was smart and he noticed things, so who knew. If he _did_ notice, then Tony was probably up shit creek. Probably definitely up shit creek. And then there was the whole thing where _Steve_ apologized when Tony was the one who punched him and fucked everything up in the first place. Who fucking _did_ shit like that, anyway? It was an oddity that turned and flipped over in his head. 

And there he was. Sitting on his side of the car, almost smiling, the perfect fuck. Great. And now Tony had had too much to drink and, like always, he’d probably do something stupid. Only this time, stupid would probably look more like him making a pass at Steve, and then he probably _would_ get slugged, but he _wanted_. Wanted something good and right and unbroken. (Yeah, alright, so Tony knew what it looked like when a guy could be _persuaded_ in that sort of direction, and Steve had that sort of look. But pushing him that way? That was a one-way ticket to Greenland if there ever was one. But damn. Mr. Boy Scout had to go and be ridiculously good-looking, that asshole, and when Tony was not fully in control of his reactions.)

And, alright, that night, apart from everything that happened in the car onwards, was alright. Steve really did have alright people. Which was a really good train of thought, Steve’s people, because his friends were _not_ Steve, and he wasn’t sitting right next to them, so it was really easy to think about them. And how they’d given him the perfect excuse to kiss Steve. No. Bad. Bad Tony. Because then he’ll think of excuses that he might make later to get a little something and—

No. 

No, he was not going there. He wasn't going to take advantage, he was—

“Come on, let’s go make sure everything’s presentable. I should memorize where the bathrooms are, shouldn’t I? Someone’s bound to ask—“

“En suite. All the bedrooms. We’ll let them pick. It’ll be fine. I’ll uncork some champagne, put on some music. You go make yourself look like you’ve just had the best sex of your life. Or at least find something cold to put on _that_.” He gestured vaguely at Steve’s face, not really looking at it because he _knew_ that it was starting to bruise and Tony didn’t like to look at the messes he made. And Steve’s face had an innate tendency to make him feel guilty. They might have been on the other side of the country, but some things didn’t change. But he'd gotten by _so well_  in the past, just by not looking at him and pretending he wasn't really there, that he was a figment of his imagination, that he didn't breathe, didn't feel, didn't exist. Tony wasn't very good at pretending. He liked poking at things, liked forcing reactions. In a lot of ways, it was easier that he forced Steve to hate him on some level. That way Tony could force himself into the same, could break him down into parts, into his body and, separately, the things he did, because he couldn't take the thought of a good person, the kind of person who gave everyone a chance, as someone who had given him his chance and decided he wasn't worth it.

 

There was a reason Tony didn’t come to New York anymore, and that reason had a lot to do with the Long Island residence. Or what used to be the Stark Family Residence. Funny how his dad never called it “home”. Or not, actually. It wasn’t fucking funny at all. 

At least there would be people now. Maybe a few faces would make him feel less like burning the place down. At least that was the idea. Push the idle ghosts from the house. 

Either way, Tony needed a drink. Or seven. More. 

But it didn’t go according to plan really. Barely after he’d finished making himself a drink (alright, it was his third since getting home, but that was something he was going to keep to himself), Steve came in, wearing a different shirt and holding an ancient bag of frozen peas to his face. It ached to know that it was something Tony had done, that he'd proven himself, again, to be undeserving and wrong. He wanted to get out of his skin.

“Take it easy. No one’s even here yet, and don’t think I don’t know that you had a few back at the club.” How he managed to still sound like a mother with peas on his face was impressive. But if Tony didn't drink, he'd have to actually think. The only thoughts his brain wanted to tie down were the kind that stung, the kind that pushed through and tore at the edges. So Tony would drink. Until he forgot how stupid everything was, how stupid he was. The barrier between _want_ and _don't_ was a blur. Tony smudged it out with a few swigs from the bottle. His feet were lying to him about where the ground was, but that was alright. That was good. That meant he didn't have to think of anything but a halfway decent excuse.

Steve jerked against him when Tony’s lips first hit his skin. 

“Jesus, Tony! What are you doing?”

“Giving you a hickey. Can’t exactly do it yoursself,” he whispered against Steve’s neck. “Hold still.” He got to work, enjoying it a little bit too much, but hey, he wouldn’t deny that he was a hedonist. But Steve’s skin tasted good, tasted like nice things, the kind of things Tony was never allowed to have because he'd break them, and his pulse hammered beneath Tony’s mouth. Hummed against him. It pushed everything else out.

“What—“ Tony covered his mouth with a hand, sucking a little harder, wanting it more than he wanted to, more than was safe. Fingers slipped into his hair, scraping against his scalp like they were going to pull him away, but the hand didn’t push or pull. He needed to stop that or Tony was going to do something embarrassing that he’d regret, like start humping his leg or tell him he was everything right in the world or cry. Or break himself in two. 

Tony backed away, the wet noise a little more distracting than he’d like to think about. And yeah, that was definitely a nice hickey, spit-slick and _just_ above Steve’s collar. Tony couldn’t help but grin to himself with a little primal thrill. 

“You can’t— You can’t just _do_ things like that without asking me first! _Jeez_.” Steve rubbed at the spot with his collar, leaving a little wet mark on the cotton.

“Hey, you called me Tony earlier, didn’t you?” was all he could think to say. He really needed to find something to talk about so his mouth wouldn’t find other ways to occupy itself. Or find a needle and sew it shut because the things that it wanted to say were all wrong. 

“I— Well, yeah. I guess I did. It’s just easier to call you one name. Makes more sense. That way I don’t slip up or anything.”

“You never slip up. It’s kind of sick, actually. How perfect you are. I bet you’ve never made a real mistake in your life.” Alright, bad subject. Not going to end well. His mouth was a dirty betrayer, nothing new. “Does it ever get boring? Or are you _that_ perfect, so perfect it doesn’t bother you that you’re perfect? I bet you are. Wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest.” Tony wasn't sure if he was jealous or angry or horny, but all of those ended with his hands on Steve. But his hands were wrong, they destroyed things. If he touched, he'd break, wasn't that what his father always told him? That he wasn't safe to have around important things, wasn't worthy?

“You need to go take a shower or something. You’ve definitely had too much to drink. I’ll make you coffee for when you get out.”

Fuck him. Could he just _have_ a Steve? Only one who liked him? So that on top of knowing what was in his best interests, it wouldn’t all be _despite_ Tony? There were far too many things people did despite him. 

“But then you wouldn’t have me to force you to shower despite your inebriation. Now go.”

Apparently he was thinking out loud. Perfect.

“Tony. _Go_.” 

Alright. He could do that. Should. Before he said something stupid or honest. So right. He was going.

No, he was going to punch in the walls on his way there, drag his nails across the wallpaper until they broke. Or throw up on the carpets, rip them to shreds, burn them. Just because the place made him nauseous, made him want to kill something, made him want to punch himself in the gut. Too many ghosts, too many memories. Of Tony, alone, in empty rooms, of trying so _hard_ just to get his dad to _approve_ of him, let alone _like_ him. Too much. It was all so ugly. 

 

By the time Tony made it downstairs again, he was thinking more clearly, but he was low. Coffee might help, but he didn’t feel like moving much. Entertaining was going to be hellish, but he would do it and they’d love him because that was how it worked. He was good at the things that caused him pain. Nothing new. 

“Here.” A mug was pushed in front of him. Then, “What’s up? You only look a little more _there_.”

“Did you know that I didn’t know what a bedtime story was until I was sixteen?” he asked, looking up. “I had absolutely no concept of the whole thing. No clue. My roommate at MIT was talking about the things he missed from being a kid, and I had no idea what he was talking about. I asked him if it was something parents did every night or just sometimes, and he laughed. Not in a cruel way, but he thought I was making a joke. So I pretended I was.”

Well. He did _not_ expect all of that to come tumbling out. Must have been drunker that he’d thought if he was going to talk about “childhood”. Maybe he should rip out his tongue. There had to be a pair of tongs in one of those drawers, if he could just —

It took him a second to realize that Steve had walked around the bar and wrapped his arms around him. It was from the side, so there wasn’t anything Tony could really do, just sit there until Steve was done. In a way, that was better. Not having any expectations. Nothing to fail. 

“By the way, you should run your head under the shower; it’ll look better if we make it look like we showered together,” he said, trying to ruin it because it was something he couldn't have: affection. 

Steve pulled away, froze for a moment. “Alright. Sure. I can do that.” He started towards the stairs, then turned around. “This’ll be faster,” he said, the only warning Tony got before he lost his mind. 

No, really.

His brain fell out of his skull and into his coffee. Made a real mess of the counter. Someone was going to have to clean that up. _Someone_ being code for Steve, of course, because that was what he did and Tony hated/loved him for it.

He could do it with his shirt. _The shirt currently not on his body_. 

Because Steve was bent over the sink, the extendable faucet thing in his hand, spraying his hair. Alright, that was a logical thing. What was not logical was his _back_. Jesus, did those muscles exist? Were they supposed to be there? Were they even real? And _oh God_ he had dimples. Above his ass. Ass dimples. That was…that was _not_ okay. 

 _How_. 

 _Why_.

But seriously. Head-brain disengaged, thinking processes rerouted: why was Steve at the very least laboring under the delusion of heterosexuality? They could be having great sex. All the time. Right then. But also all the fucking time. For months and months and months. And Tony would make it good, he would, he’d work extra hard because _back_ and _ass dimples_. (Also because _face_ and _breakfast_ and _coffee_ and _hugs_ and _perfect human being_ , but that was beside the point.) Point was, if Steve would just get over his whole _I don’t like Tony Stark_ thing, it could be really beautiful until it fell apart. But then, Steve knew him pretty well. Hence, the _I don’t like Tony Stark_ thing. Which, alright, _fair_ , but still kind of ripped-off-bandage raw. Ugly and right and horrible. 

Almost as horrible as him putting his shirt back on. Which was criminal really. Should be punishable by law. In fact, if Tony manipulated his resources just right, he’d totally find a way to bribe someone in Congress to write it into the small print of some bill that “one Steven Rogers is not allowed to wear clothing at any time”. That was a really good idea. 

“Tony, you look like you’re falling asleep. Why don’t you go to bed? I’ll help everyone get settled. It’s late; they’ll want to sleep anyway.” He looked almost _fond_ for a moment, then frowned. “Our bags were in the same room. I saw them earlier— That’s intentional, isn’t it? Because if we sleep in separate rooms, it’ll look suspicious. Right.” 

Tony looked down at his coffee. It was too hot to drink any of it just yet, or it _was_ last time he checked, and now he can’t really be bothered, even if it _was_ Steve who made it for him special, which wasn’t really _that_ special anyway because he made Tony coffee all the time because it was his fucking _job_ and— 

“Yeah, no, good idea. Sleep, I mean,” his mouth decided to say, and then Tony took a deep breath. “And this is me getting up.” 

Body refused to cooperate.

“No, _this_ is me getting up. Yeah. There. And I am going to the sleep. To the bedroom. Right. That way.” Steve was at his elbow, helping him along like he was some sort of invalid, and Tony sort of half-heartedly pushed him away, but he didn’t feel like protesting because maybe sleep would make it all go away.

They got him to the bedroom (his old bedroom, even though his parents’ was bigger because he’d long ago refused to sleep in that one himself) and maybe Steve was right about the drinking, and when was the last time he’d slept again? Two days ago? Three? So that meant that he was crashing. Hard. Oblivion was calling, but of a different kind.

“Here, why don’t you take the bed? Do you know where I could find some blankets or extra pillows or something?”

“All the other beds should be made,” Tony grumbled, waving a hand as he sat down to take off his shoes. 

“No, I mean, for _me_. So I have somewhere to sleep.” 

Tony looked up at him with absolutely zero tolerance for his virtue or righteousness or whatever it was that made him a good person. “It’s a fucking _king_. I could spread myself out as far as I could go on one side and still not be able to touch you if you’re on the other side. And I don’t cuddle or snore or anything. Please spare me your little spiel about virtue and, as all the hip youngsters say, build a bridge and _get over it_.” 

“Fine. But I expect you to be clothed when I come to bed. Surprise nudity really isn’t fun for everyone.”

“You know, I’m gonna put in time and effort to change that philosophy, Rogers. Now, unless you want a show, you can go back to waiting for your friends.” Tony tossed his suit jacket towards the chair against the nearest wall, missing by about a foot. Looking at it for a second, he did a last-minute mental check of everything he needed to do to be a good Tony Stark, a good host. “Oh, and tell Natasha, Clint, and Bruce to take the door at the very end of the hallway. It’s the only one with a California King.” His tie was next, tossed with the same measure of carelessness, forced. 

“What? I don’t think it’s like that, I mean, they live together, but not like _that_.”

“Call it what you want, but those three definitely spoon regularly. I don’t know for sure about the _forking_ , but—“

“Stop. Alright. I’ll give them the option. But I don’t think they’ve got some sort of kinky thing going on.”

Tony stood, unbuttoning his pants with the efficiency of the truly exhausted, frustrated with himself and the fact that Steve just _kept talking_. “I never said it was kinky. It doesn’t have to be kinky. But going by Natasha, I wouldn’t rule it out—“

“Can we just stop talking about my friends having sex with each other? Please?”

“Sure. Suit yourself. Whatever. I’m going to bed. You can join me if you want.” He threw his pants wildly and started unbuttoning his shirt. Apparently, Steve decided to take that as his cue to leave.

“Good night!” he said, almost as an afterthought, on his way out the door. Always the afterthought. Always that thing someone almost forgot. Always.

 

Steve settled down at the breakfast bar in front of the coffee he’d made for Tony and sighed. Deeply. Long, _long_ night. And it wasn’t over yet. 

So, realistically, it had been at least three times as long for Tony and that was probably why he was acting so…well, like himself, to be honest. Wild and erratic and strange. But maybe he was a little more…open because he was tired. Less in control of his emotions or something. His emotions had always tended to be triggering for him, in the rare instance they were allowed to run wild. Which was why Steve had wanted to pull Tony into his lap and stroke his hair and _make_ him just _cry_ for once, to let it all out, because it was sort of ridiculous. And, sure, Steve knew that his childhood hadn’t been great; one of the first things Pepper had said to him on his first real day of work was to never bring up Howard Stark or anything from when Tony was young. But tonight didn’t count. Tony had brought it up himself. And it was kind of horrible. Apart from the cradling instincts, Steve wanted to take a swing at his parents. It was awful, what they’d done to him.

The door bell rang, startling him out of his thoughts. 

Thor, Jane, and Darcy, plus overnight bags. 

“Hey, uh, come in. Tony was pretty beat, so he went to bed, but I can make drinks if you want. Or you can pick out bedrooms if you’re tired. Whatever you want.”

“I think I’m gonna crash. I’ll see you bitches in the morning,” Darcy said. “Upstairs?” 

“Yes. All except the one at the top of the stairs and the one at the end of the hall are ready.”

“Sweet. Darcy out.” She trudged up the stairs with a kind of large bag. 

“Why don’t we pick out a room, too?” Jane said to Thor. “So we can put our stuff somewhere.”

“A mighty plan! Let us set off at once!” She giggled a little. Steve loved Thor, like he did all of his friends, but how she managed to date a performance artist, especially one as dedicated as Thor, was a complete mystery to him. Heck, Tony was more than enough to handle on any given day, and he spoke normal English. 

By the time Thor and Jane came down, Steve had a Guinness for him (the only beer he’d drink because he claimed that it was the only drink that could even come close to Asgardian mead) and a hot tea for her (decaf, because she never drank alcohol or caffeine after ten and claimed that there was nothing better than a good green tea). They all settled down in the living room, gossiping a little because Steve wanted to make sure Bucky was doing alright. He was, though he’d broken up with someone a few weeks earlier and hadn’t told Steve he was dating her in the first place, not that he was upset. Different lives and all of that. Besides, what with the whole thing with Tony, he couldn’t exactly complain. 

Natasha, Clint, and Bruce arrived pretty soon after, and Bucky pulled up as he let them in. Apparently, Tony was right, on some level, because they definitely took the bedroom at the end of the hall. That meant that with Bucky taking a room, there was one that remained empty. 

Drinks downstairs didn’t last too long, but it was nice just getting to talk to everyone without having to worry too much about keeping up appearances. They all seemed to like Tony, though, which was nice. Well, Bucky had his reservations, but that probably had something to do with Steve venting to him during their monthly phone calls. That, and Bucky had always been a bit…protective. He always interrogated Steve’s dates (the few he’d had) until he was satisfied that they weren’t horrible people. Tony had actually had it pretty good, considering, but tomorrow was another day. 

By the time everyone crawled up to bed, it was late. Later than Steve would have liked. He was used to not sleeping much, but the knowledge that he could go to bed at any time was intoxicating. 

Tony was dead asleep.

He could count on one hand the number of times he’d actually seen Tony _out_. Most of those were in the lab. Seeing him actually asleep in a real bed was a little strange. He was something of an angry sleeper, too. His frown was deep, the curve his mouth cut across his face, the furrow of his brow. Steve felt a little tug at his hand to smooth his hair, something to lull him into a more peaceful sleep, but he didn’t. He went to his own side of the bed, changed into his pajamas, and tentatively got into the bed. It was a little strange. The side he usually slept on would have had him facing Tony’s side, so he laid on the other side. 

Tony had been right, though. There was plenty of space. Apart from the sound of his breathing, it was hard to tell that he was there. Except that he _knew_ that Tony was there. Which was strange. Steve wasn’t used to sleeping so near someone else. He hadn’t shared a bed with anyone since, well, since Bucky, and that was just for a week or two when he was in college, when Bucky first came back from being deployed and couldn’t find an apartment at first. Steve’s roommate hadn’t really minded. It was kind of sad, actually, when he thought about it, that he’d never gotten to the bed-sharing part of a relationship. Alright, not really, since he’d been holding out for Peggy since he was a sophomore in college, holding out for the memory of a chance meeting and a single, perfect kiss. There had been _dates_ since then, but it wasn’t like his heart was in any of them. They couldn’t compare. To be honest, though, if he were one of his friends, he would have been very suspicious of the whole thing with Tony. Or possibly, if he thought about it, unsurprised. Never could make it work with a woman, so maybe it was just because he’d been trying with the wrong gender. At least that’s what they’d think. Possibly. At least that was a story he could run with. 

It took him a long time to fall asleep. 

 

When Steve woke up, he did so quietly. He was the sort of person who woke abruptly, jumped straight into consciousness. But he laid there for a moment, facing the empty section of the bed, and watched the slight rise and fall of Tony’s breathing. It was too slow for him to be awake. If he was sleeping still, it was a miracle and Steve would treat it as such. He went into stealth mode, getting out of the bed. Trying not to disturb the mattress or its other occupant. Tiptoed out of the room, in his pajamas, but he really didn’t care if anyone saw him in them. 

As he was preparing coffee, he heard a soft _ding_ and spun around. Just next to the divider between the kitchen and living room, there was a door sliding open, revealing Natasha with a yoga mat rolled under one arm. She sat down at the breakfast bar, stretching her neck a little. 

“It’s a nice day. I take it you haven’t been up to the roof? You should. It’s quite the set-up.” 

“I didn’t even realize you could go to the roof,” he said, surprised. “Tony and I didn’t really have time for a full tour last night.” See, he could do it. It was both honest and suggestive, but not so suggestive it made him uncomfortable. 

“Well, there’s a pool and jacuzzi, but I’d wait until Bruce comes down. He meditates for a while after yoga. It’s better if you don’t disturb him.” Steve nodded, checking the fridge to see what he could scare up for breakfast. “I know Bucky’s going to try to corner you and talk to you about it, but, awkwardness of having to introduce him to everyone aside, are you happy with Tony?”

That was a bit surprising. Natasha tended to stay out of people’s love lives. She wasn’t a romantic in any sense of the word, and she wasn’t one to mess around in other people’s relationships. Most of the time, it seemed like she just didn’t care about what other people did. Unless one of them was unhappy. 

“I am. I mean, _we_ are. It’s a little different, I guess. Neither of us has really had much of a history with relationships, so it’s a novel experience in a lot of ways.”

“So, are you not having sex because it’s your first relationship with a man, then? Or is it something else?”

Steve stilled.

  _Of course_ she would know. Natasha _would_ figure it out. Or at least that much of it. And now he needed a good reason. 

“Yeah, um, it’s sort of…it’s one of those things, I guess. I’ve never and he _has_. _A lot_. I got a little…nervous about the whole thing. He suggested that maybe we wait a bit. Take it slow, I guess. That sort of thing.” He had to be _bright_ red. “How did you know anyway?”

“The usual,” she said with a sigh. “Observation. You’re not comfortable in each others’ personal space, not effortlessly, which means you’ve never been intimate in that way. If you had, you’d be comfortable. Two people are truly comfortable around each other for one of two reasons: they’ve had sex or they both have absolutely no interest in ever doing so. You have too much sexual tension to have ever had sex.” Well, then. That was…not exactly what he’d wanted to hear. And, alright, it made perfect sense. Her logic. They _weren’t_ comfortable around each other, mostly because Tony didn’t know how to keep his mouth to himself, or, more accurately, seemed to delight in making Steve uncomfortable. So there was that. Besides that, Tony wanted to have sex with everything that moved, which happened to include Steve, so there was the source of the…tension. Which made sense, if he thought about it.

“Look, if you want my advice on it, and I can tell that you do because something tells me the only person you’ve talked about it with is him, right?” Steve nodded after a split second. “So I’ll say this once: you’re both grown ups, you’re both pretty capable men, just work up to it or something. Start small. But there’s no law saying that you have to ever go all the way to penetration, if that’s the problem. But if you want to, then just be careful and no one will get hurt. Knowing you, that’s probably part of your concern. Whatever you want to do, just relax. Sex is a beautiful thing. Enjoy it.” 

Steve knew he had to be blushing or something, but he forced a smile. “Thanks. I…yeah.”

“Good talk. Now, I’ve gotta shower and make sure Clint doesn’t try to sleep all day. But if you have any concerns, feel free to ask. I spent a few years as a sex therapist after college, so whatever you’ve got, I’ve heard stranger. Unless it’s on the Nicholas Sparks side of things. Then, talk to Clint.” Steve laughed. It was true, actually. Clint had a weird fascination with romantic comedies that no one really understood. 

Alone again, Steve set his sights on breakfast. There were eggs, enough for everyone, and enough other stuff to put a few omelets together. That could work nicely. Coffee was happening. Everything looked good. Maybe even Bruce would make some pancakes (Steve would, but Bruce’s were so much better, it would have been insulting to try) and then everyone would be happy. They’d all have a great start to the day. 

“Jesus, how the fuck are you conscious right now?” came a grumble. 

“You seem to be walking, so you must have figured it out,” he called over his shoulder to Tony as he beat a few eggs. “But there’s nothing wrong with going back to bed. You should sleep more.” 

Tony sat at the breakfast bar, making a valiant effort to be as horizontal as possible. “Maybe I will. Ugh. See, this is why I hate sleeping. Because waking up is so hard.” Steve chuckled a little, then set the eggs aside to check out the bacon situation. 

“Sleep. Coffee will be done soon. A little nap won’t hurt, though. And I'll get you something for the hangover.” He mumbled something unintelligible. The next time Steve looked over, to drop a couple pills and a glass of water next to him, he seemed to be more or less dead to the world. Good. If it were possible, he’d have Tony sleep another twelve hours. For starters. 

It wasn’t until the coffee was ready that Tony resurfaced in the land of the living. He accepted his coffee with a somewhat glazed-over look and set his face over it to breathe it in. 

Steve was flipping the bacon and sausages when Tony spoke again. “How are you not dying? You’re not freaking out over too many things happening at once. I tried to make breakfast for myself once, and that’s what happened. Everything burned. You’re not human, are you?”

“I just have a lot of practice.”

“ _How_ —? Oh _._ You— Yeah. Thanks. On the cooking front. Good on you.”

“Well, it’s easier cooking for more than one person. I usually cook for three, which is a pretty good number for bacon and toast.”

“Three? Me, you, I guess, and Pepper?”

Steve gave him a dry look. “Pepper? Really? That’s what you’re going with?”

“Who else?” Was he being serious? 

“Um, perhaps your _guest_ of the night. What, do you think I just show them the door?”

Tony shrugged, maybe just the smallest bit guiltily. “I never really thought about it. So you make them breakfast then?” 

“It’s the polite thing to do. I make them breakfast, have their clothes dry-cleaned, and apologize for you.” Steve shrugged and turned back to the stove. Maybe it was harsh of him to say, considering that it made Tony go dead silent, but it was the truth. He did a lot for Tony. More than anyone. Put up with more than most people would under similar circumstances, if he was going to be brutally honest about it. But it wasn’t that bad. Maybe it was Stockholm Syndrome or something, but it felt almost like it was worth it. 

So it was as he poured egg into a frying pan that Steve realized that maybe he kind of liked Tony. A little bit. Maybe he protested too much. Maybe he wasn’t being entirely honest when he said it was a pain to work for him. If Tony were actually Tony Stark, maybe it would have been. If he’d been a partier and a playboy because he actually wanted to do those things, then sure, he’d hate it. He probably wouldn’t still be working for him. But that wasn’t really Tony. Tony was the guy who spent days working in his basement because he’d lost track of time. Because that was what he loved. And yes, he must have loved the show of it, must have at some time, but the Tony he’d known from the start wasn’t the man who loved making tabloid covers. 

And maybe what he really meant was that the man Tony actually was, not who he thought he was or who he pretended to be, that man was worth it. Was worth loving. Or something.


End file.
